InterfectorInterfectrix
by AnbarElectrum
Summary: When Tara unearths a prophecy predicting the arrival of a god-like Destroyer, no one guesses that it's the least of their problems.  Meanwhile, a disturbance in time sends the crew of the TARDIS hurtling towards the source of the problem: Sunnydale, 2001.
1. Chapter 1: The Meaning of Family

_**Interfector/Interfectrix**_

Summary: When Tara unearths a prophecy predicting the arrival of a god-like Destroyer, no one ever expects that it'll be the least of their problems. Meanwhile, a disturbance in time sends the crew of the TARDIS hurtling towards the source of the problem: Sunnydale, November 2001.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ or any of its associated characters or concepts, even if I think being a Slayer might just be cool enough to be worth the lifestyle suckage. That honor goes to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and the rest of the lot. Nor do I own _Doctor Who_ or any of its associated characters or concepts, much though I might wish I had my own TARDIS and the Doctor to fly it around for me and be awesome with me. When it comes to that, give it up for Steven Moffat and the BBC!

Feedback: Please? _*puppy dog eyes*_ Flames, glorious praise, noncommittal noises—I'll take it, just don't leave me in suspense! Even if you only read it to mock it.

Pairings: Doctor/River, Amy/Rory, Anya/Xander, Willow/Tara, possible Buffy/Giles

I said POSSIBLE B/G, and I meant that. But no, it doesn't squick me. It was only ever Quentin who really brought up the father/daughter thing (besides Clingy!Buffy that one time with the cheque and Giles didn't seem too thrilled…) and seriously, are we trusting HIS judgement? But if you _are _squicked and I haven't miraculously converted you, just keep the faith and I'll warn you if a chapter's taking a turn for the openly shippy with them.  
>There may be more pairings later, but it depends on where the story takes me.<p>

Spoilers: Probably for all the major plot points of _Doctor Who_ thus far; spoilers up to Tabula Rasa for _Buffy_. See below.

_Doctor Who_: Set after NuWho Series 6/The Doctor, The Widow, and the Wardrobe. Don't know if it's AU or not 'cause hey, I can't see the future. Amy and Rory are the companions in this story. River may or may not show up.

_Buffy_: AU after Tabula Rasa. I think Season Six went pretty much okay, all things considered, but I'm NOT fond of how everyone went psycho after Giles left. I s'pose I _could_ pick up after Grave, but that would mean Tara being dead, and I personally think Tara possessed an understated & underrated awesomeness all her own. I kinda want to see if I can evolve her into a true badass while still staying true to the character. So a shy, quiet badass. Hrm.

Anyway, enough babbling! On with the story!

**Chapter One  
>In Which the Meaning of Family is Explored<strong>

_**A/N Sorry 'bout the angst-so-thick-you-could-cut-it-with-a-knife thing here. Or 'you're welcome', I suppose, if you like angst. I know people seem a bit OOC here, but to me, angsty and divided Scoobies absolutely define OOC. I couldn't just jump into this without giving Giles a proper reason to stay, so long tearful Tabula Rasa farewells it was. Must also apologise for the conspicuous absence of a certain madman with a box thus far. It really is a crossover, I swear! I'll shut up and let you read.**_

He'd said goodbye to them, now. Most of them, anyway. It went without saying that they wouldn't be at the airport to send him off. That would require a bit more of a communal effort then the splintered Scoobies were up to. He hadn't told the Council of his departure—they'd only make things worse, and he hadn't risked alerting them to his move by renting a flat in Bath. He'd probably stay at the estate, the first couple of days or so, then gradually pull up his more official roots in Sunnydale.

Tara hadn't stayed long—she'd had to start driving her things over to the dorms, now that she was moving out of the house. Dawn hadn't really stayed at all. The moment they had arrived at the house on Revello Drive, the teenager had charged up the stairs and locked herself in her room. Willow had tried to stay around, but after a few minutes of avoiding everyone's eyes she stammered out an excuse and followed Dawn's example, choosing the upstairs bathroom as her sanctuary. Anya was still embarrassed over the kiss (_Anya! Embarrassed! Fancy that.)_ while Xander was still dazed by Willow's dishonesty. Both of them had embraced Giles—and both awkwardly, though for very different reasons—and left pretty early on. No one had seen Buffy since she/Joan had left the shop with Spike/Randy. Spike had had the decency to show up and give the gang the all-clear before vanishing to parts unknown. Possibly the same parts as Buffy—probably, Giles thought bitterly. Spike would do anything to get closer to the Slayer.

In retrospect, Tara really hadn't left that quickly after all.

Still, when Giles was left alone in a living room not his own, he had a feeling that he'd overstayed his welcome. He hesitated at the door to the bathroom, almost knocked. But no. Better Willow see the consequences of her actions. It hurt him to leave the young Wiccan to suffer on her own, but she had to understand that she was hurting people, unwittingly pushing them away from her. That could be hard to do if one of the people she was driving away came in and comforted her.

Giles continued down the hall and didn't hesitate for an instant to knock on Dawn's door.

"Go away!" she shouted

"Dawn," the Watcher began.

Something heavy hit the door from inside. "Just go! You wanna leave, leave! Just _get out_!"

"Dawn, please," Giles tried again.

"I. Don't. Want. To. HEAR IT!" Dawn shrieked, tearing the door open and looking up at her sister's Watcher through damp, bloodshot eyes. Her chest was heaving and her entire body was shaking as though she'd been hit by a freak blizzard in her room. Her face was red and blotchy and she was holding a hand to her chest, as though she'd pulled her wrist with the force of throwing open her door. A small stone bookend lay on the floor near the doorway.

Giles had given her that bookend two years ago for her birthday. Or at least he had in the monks' version of the memories.

"Dawnie," he said softly, resorting to a rare use of her nickname. Dawn's lower lip wobbled as her resolve faltered. "I'm sorry. I wish there was another way…"

_That_ was plainly the wrong thing to say. "Yeah, right." Dawn's voice was lower now, each word sounding like she had ground it out with the last shreds of her self-control. "I'm sure you wish there was a way you could stick around and have to put up with this _crap._"

"That's not—"

"I. Don't. Care. Scoobies are for _life._ We're _family. _You don't wanna stick with us through the badness, fine. Don't. Just get out, Giles." She glared at him. "Just go home."

Dawn slammed the door in the Watcher's face. He stared at it, not really seeing it.

"But I _am_ home," he murmured.

Dawn hugged a pillow to her chest, staring at the picture on top of her bureau. After Giles had taken Buffy to her vision quest in the desert, he'd treated the Summers girls out to a picnic in the local park. Just the three of them. Dawn's outstretched arm was just visible in the frame, holding the camera at arm's length to capture the moment. Buffy and Giles had both caught Dawn around the middle between them. Giles' spare arm was draped affectionately over the elder sibling's shoulders as he smiled quietly at the camera; Buffy's grin was a little more wicked, two fingers forming bunny-ears behind her unsuspecting Watcher's head.

Having Giles around—Dawn wasn't sure what it meant to Buffy, but to her it meant safety. Security. It meant having a dad again. Giles was everything Hank Summers had been—and more, she'd thought.

She'd been wrong. Giles was _exactly_ like Dad. There when the going was good, gone in a moment when things got rough. She remembered when she'd found out about her past as the Key, how she'd burned her journals. She thought about burning the photo. She'd actually snatched up the frame before her thoughts caught up with her. Getting rid of the photo wouldn't fix anything.

Dawn smiled a little, looking at Buffy's photographed face. God, her big sis looked happy, completely at ease with her head resting on Giles' shoulder even as she pulled her juvenile little prank on the Englishman.

And Giles…Giles looked every bit as content.

Angrily, Dawn threw the picture into a drawer, slamming it shut. No, getting rid of it wouldn't fix anything, but neither would looking at it.

She didn't need to keep reminding herself of all she had lost.

Curling up on her bed, she stared at her backpack instead. She had a history paper due tomorrow. Screw it. Dr Bowman would live.

Right now, she needed cry time.

_***sniffle* Poor Scoobies! I'm sorry for imagining and describing your agony in detail! *sob* It'll be worth it, I swear! You'll be much happier in the AU I made for you than you would be in the real Season 6, trust me! I love you guys! *cries***_

…_**So, now that you're all quite sure I'm insane (I'm talking to you audience types now, by the by) tell me what you think? Otherwise, I'll think I'm even more insanerer for talking to two sets of non-existent people. Pretty soon I'll be unable to distinguish fact from fiction, fantasy from reality…you know the drill. So prove you exist! R&R!**_


	2. Chapter 2: Stars Dictate the Future

**Chapter Two**

**In Which Stars Dictate the Future for No Apparent Reason**

_**A/N: So named because I fully expect the Doctor to debunk the whole 'written in the stars' thing the moment he can slip it into a conversation. Yes, he *will* actually show up at some point. More angst in this chapter, but it's always darkest before—bah, you know the rest.**_

He'd finally finished packing. He refused to dwell any further on what he was leaving behind. No—best not to think of it that way. That way lay madness and lonely scotch-drinking. Technically, he didn't even need to leave for the airport yet, but the sooner he got out of these familiar surroundings—_home—_the faster he'd get used to being gone. Leaving his suitcase at the foot of the stairs, Giles reached for the phone to call a cab.

Another hand slapped down on the receiver before he could so much as brush the plastic with his fingertips. Giles nearly jumped out of his skin, yelping.

"Good Lord, Buffy!"

She had reached over the back of the couch. The Slayer's clothes were rumpled and her blonde hair in disarray, but the circles under her eyes belied any assumption that she'd slept.

"Giles, wait. Just…please. I need to talk to you."

"There's not much to talk about," Giles said, a little at a loss. This was rather a different Buffy than he'd seen. Neither the desperate, clingy, responsibility-shy Buffy of the last few weeks nor the confident, optimistic Buffy of the days before her death. But there was still something about her manner that made him wary.

"Please," she repeated.

"I can't stay," Giles said softly, trying to make her understand. Begging her not to make this any harder for him than it already was.

"Giles, I just—"

The phone shrilled, making Buffy jump nearly as much as Giles had.

The Watcher hesitated, waiting to see if she would forge on with whatever she had to say, but she was watching him. Waiting for him to pick up.

Clearing his throat, he grabbed the receiver. "Rupert Giles."

"Mr Giles, thank the Goddess!"

"Tara? What is it, what's the matter?" He pulled off his glasses, trying to ignore the quiet voice in the back of his head that said: _None of your business, old man, that's what it is. You getting sucked back into this, giving into being made into an emotional crutch, that's what's the matter._

"Um, w-w-well I wouldn't have b-bothered you, but I called B-Buffy's and there wasn't an answer so I thought I should call you i-in case you were still there and…i-if you could maybe leave a message by the shop or something, 'cause I have class and I can't…"

"Tara, it's all right, I understand. What's going on?" Giles asked patiently. The witch obviously felt bad about getting him involved, but if something _was_ going on, she was right—there wasn't much of an option.

"W-well I just thought that since y-you were going to be gone, I sh-should start keeping an eye on the signs." Tara gulped audibly—an unusual action for the shy but courageous witch. "You know, portents and things like that. I-I found something. Everything fits. The planetary alignments, the constellations in the sky, all the storms we've been getting…it's all written down in the _Portendere __Aetātēs_."

Giles' blood ran cold. "What is, Tara?"

Buffy began to wish she'd used her Slayer hearing to listen in. She didn't know what Tara was talking about, but Giles looked pretty wigged, and that was enough for her.

She didn't care what happened to herself, at this point, but she'd be damned if she let Dawn or Spike get hurt. Or Giles. It didn't matter that he was leaving her. _He_ hadn't dragged her from peace. That put him on the up in Buffy's book. And…he was Giles.

"I…see. No, Tara, if you could leave everything out? Someone should take a look at it while you're in class. All right. Yes. No, she's all right. Okay. I'll make sure of it. 'Bye."

He hung it up with a distant look in his eyes. Thoughtful look. Research look.

And there was just a little hint of fear in there, too.

"Giles? What's up with Tara?"

"Ah…" Giles slid his glasses back on. "It seems a particularly ominous prophecy from the _Portendere __Aetātēs_ has decided to come to pass."

"Oh." Buffy got up. "I guess I'd better make with the de-Hellmouthing, then," she said dully. "What's it this time? Master vamp? Politician hell-bent on making an even bigger demon outta himself? Rogue god-in-a-human's-body?"

"I'm afraid it's far worse than that," Giles said slowly.

_Of course it is_, Buffy reflected.

"Well…I guess I'll go over to her dorm…then you should probably…" she gestured at the phone "…call your…cab…"

Giles looked at the phone for a moment, biting his lip a little. He seemed to come to a decision. "I've got time. Shall we go over to Tara's, see what's what with this prophecy business?"

Hope rose in the Slayer, only to be quashed by Giles' next words. "If this is serious, I'll have to inform the Council." He grimaced. "And here I'd been hoping to slip into the country unannounced.

Buffy nodded, hardly daring to breathe. She had Giles for a few more hours.

_**Doctor Who fans, stay tuned! Glorious timey-wimeys next chapter! R&R!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Blame London

**Chapter Three**

**In Which the Earth is in Danger but Not Because of London**

_**A/N: SQUEEE! Yes, I was humming the Series 5 soundtrack under my breath while I wrote this and no, I will not subject you to musical cues in my writing. Loyal fans of the Doctor, I present: Your reward!**_

"No, no, no, no, no!"

The Doctor swung himself over to the next panel on the TARDIS console, yanking a shining red lever. "Relax, old girl!"

"Doctor!" Amy screamed, clutching the railing.

"Just hang on, Amy! Rory, are you still down there?" he called, dropping to his hands and knees to search the area below the glass gantry anxiously.

"I'm here!" Rory yelled, appearing among the masses of wires and cords, goggles pushed up on his forehead.

"Thermocouplings, red, blue, green!" the Doctor ordered, leaping up and returning to his work. He flung himself around the console, pulling levers and flipping switches at a furious pace.

"D'you even know what you're doing?" Amy yelled, the last syllable dissolving into another scream as the TARDIS rocked once more.

"Yes!" the Doctor shouted defensively, hand pausing over a large bank of buttons, scanning his eidetic memory. Oh yes, right. Those silly blue things on the edge. He punched them in with his fingers. The TARDIS was still shifting, but the constant trembling had desisted.

"What'd you do?"

"Hit the boring-ers," Doctor replied off-handedly. "Rory, that last coupling would be _great_ right about now.

"Sorry!" Rory yelled over the sound of sparks from below.

"Is that safe, him doing that?" Amy wondered.

"Safer than letting him fly the TARDIS," the Doctor retorted. "Or you."

"Oi!"

"You know what? Never mind. Amy, stand here and yank the zigzag plotter when the badness gets badder, but only after checking with me!" he yelled, fiddling with the scanner.

"Zigzag plotter, zigzag plotter…" She spotted the gearshift-thingy at last. "Right," she muttered. "Back the door, two steps to the right…" The TARDIS tipped even farther. "Doctor!"

"Go!"

She tugged the gearshift down a notch, and the shifting let up for a bit.

"So what's going on?" Rory asked, calling up from below.

"We're caught in a storm. A major disruption in the Time Vortex—it's like trying to steer a boat through choppy waters, only it's nothing like that 'cause well, time, but if it helps," the Time Lord babbled.

"So what're you trying to do?" Amy asked, ignoring him.

"I'm trying to use the scanner to locate the source of the disruption. See, my analogy really is rubbish, 'cause there's no such thing as a natural disruption of time, only temporal anomalies. So it's got to be being caused by something outside the Vortex. But seriously, the _scale_ of this thing. I can't tell what it _is_ even—some kind of paradox, maybe?" he mused. "Or a massive, massive convergence of timelines. Or Cardiff. Or a…" the Doctor fell silent.

"Or a what, Doctor?" Rory called.

The Time Lord did not respond.

"Doctor?" Amy asked softly, not quite daring to leave her post.

The Doctor turned haunted eyes on his best friend. "The last time I saw time storms like this was during the war," he said softly.

Amy's eyes widened. "Are you saying…?"

The Doctor looked away. The TARDIS rumbled again as the 'storm' got worse. "Keep an eye on that scanner, Amy. We should be getting a visual soon."

Amy wasn't sure which responsibility was worse—being given hold of the most effective emergency stabiliser on board, or watching the scanner and waiting for the carnage to appear.

The Doctor had told her a little about the Time War, and so carnage was one thing she knew to expect.

"Wait, wait!" Rory yelled. "So the Time War is what's doing this?"

"Not _the _Time War, the Last Great Time War, just _a_ Time War," the Doctor said distractedly, throwing himself back at the console with a will. "All Time Wars get time-locked once they're done, and they're only done once everyone's done zipping about the place in their time ships. Like us. So this is a new Time War, but…" He let the sentence trail off, focusing utterly on his work.

Amy and Rory didn't need to hear him finish to know what he meant. Time Wars were vicious, bloody, affairs that could span centuries, but every atrocity was bundled together, blow after blow after blow struck within hours. High speed warfare that was fought by countless generations and over within a single day. Amy swallowed, but kept her eyes on the screen.

When the image finally resolved, her eyes widened in shock.

"Doctor!"

"Not yet, Amy!"

"Not that, idiot! The screen!"

The Doctor looked from the back of the scanner to Amy's face. Grimly, he grabbed hold of the screen and turned it to face him. "What?" he yelped, confusion in every line of his face.

Rory ran up the steps to the gantry, crowding in behind his wife and her best friend.

"But that's…that's…_what_?" The Doctor repeated, incredulous. He was well aware that his voice was squeaking and breaking in a way it hadn't since his last incarnation.

"I don't…what the hell?" Amy echoed, shaking her head.

It was a _town_. A warm, sunny, edge-of-the-tropics town that looked like it was somewhere in Mexico, or possibly one of the southern American states. Tiny wisps of white cloud drifted lazily over a painfully bright blue sky, white stucco walls eye-searing in the noon sun, terra cotta roofs shimmering in the heat.

"Witness the death, destruction, and chaos," Rory said dryly.

The Doctor slapped the scanner a couple times, hard. The image wavered for a moment, but did not change.

"Well then." He fiddled with the dial and an alphanumeric code appeared on the screen. The Doctor began tapping at the typewriter keys. "Amy, Rory? How d'you fancy a vacation?"

_**I guess the Doctor doesn't really know about Sunnydale. I mean, the Scoobies have been there to deal with all the crises, so he never really had to pay the place a visit. I wonder how the Hellmouth is going to react to having the Lord of Time dropped on top of it? Which reminds me—I have to think of a sciencey-wiency explanation for that so our dear Doctor's head doesn't asplode. Shouldn't be a problem—I'm good at making science up. And I have a sneaking suspicion that the Doc's pretty big on Clarke's Third Law, which should simplify things some.**_

_**R&R!**_


	4. Chapter 4: Illusions and Parallels

**Chapter Four**

**In Which an Illusion of Normalcy is Temporarily Restored and Certain Parallels are Drawn**

_**A/N: I know, a little later than it's been, but the due dates have been in quick succession of late. Some lines at the end of the chapter are paraphrased from the beginning of "Smashed".**_

Buffy sat quietly in the passenger seat of Giles's red BMW. Her Watcher had lowered the top the way she used to prefer, and the wind tugged gently at her ponytail. Giles jumped when his Slayer broke the silence.

"So what's this 'portend-airy eat-eighties' thing?"

Giles cringed. "_Portendere Aetātēs._ It's Latin, Buffy. Translated, it means 'To Predict the Ages'."

"Another _Big Book of Bad Things to Come_. Yay."

The ex-librarian-turned-shopkeeper sighed. "Yes, it _is_ a book of prophecies. And how Tara got her hands on it, I suspect I will never know."

"So what makes it so special?" Buffy wanted to know. "I thought your Codex thing was the prophetic be-all, end-all."

"Ah…" Giles appeared to be casting about for the right words. "The Pergamum Codex is very old, dating back to shortly before the Middle Ages, but the _Portendere Aetātēs _is _ancient._ It's been translated several times throughout history, and its evolution is surprisingly well documented—"

"Giles, you're gonna have to talk normal-people speak if you want me to get this."

"Ahem. Yes, right. What I mean is that each of the more recent translators wrote down what it was they copied from. It was translated into its current Latin in the days of the Empire. It was translated from a Macedonian Greek scroll in the Library of Alexandria, which in turn was a recording of earlier hieroglyphs. Lamentably, the artist did not seem to think that mentions of the _Portendere_'s previous incarnation had any place in his rendering of it. We think it originates—"

"It's very very old, got it," Buffy interrupted.

"Very well, continue to dwell in ignorance of your world's past," Giles countered. Secretly, he was a little pleased she'd cut him off. It was what the old Buffy would have done. "But yes, you're right. It is _very_ old. Quite possibly the oldest collection of prophecies surviving today. It was copied quite frequently back when Pompeii was quite big on soothsayers. The books that escaped Vesuvius have been scattered far and wide. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if Tara had tripped over a copy in a used bookshop. They're not _that _common, but nobody _recognises _them anymore, so they're just thrown about rather than being snatched up by collectors."

Buffy almost smiled. He sounded very indignant about that. Nothing got Giles riled up quite as much as the way people ignored books 'these days'. "Or you?"

"I'm a collector," Giles said defensively.

"_Hoarder_ is more like it. I _still_ remember how pissed you were that one time Xander brought a Capri Sun in to drink while researching."

"He was squirting _jets_ of it into his mouth over my books!"

"But you _hafta_ drink a Capri Sun that way!" Buffy protested. "You stick the straw in, bring the pouch near your mouth, and squeeze. Presto, hose of fruity sugary goodness." She mimed the action.

"_Not_ over a collection of ancient Sumerian legends. _In_ Ancient Sumerian," Giles declared firmly. "And especially not over _my_ collection of ancient Sumerian legends."

"See? Hoarder. You're a freaking _dragon_ when it comes to your books." Buffy sat back in her seat, satisfied.

Giles chose not to respond, pretending total focus on finding a parking space.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"So this is the portent-y thingy?" Buffy said, looking unimpressed. She handed him the open volume.

"Yes, and a more recent copy of it too, by the looks of things," Giles commented. "It's actually _bound_, for one."

"I take it by 'recent' you mean 'sometime after the Old Testament'?" Buffy commented sceptically, raising an eyebrow at the yellowed pages.

Giles glared at her mildly before returning his attention to the book and Tara's notes. Buffy seated herself on the edge of Tara's bed, waiting.

And trying not to think. Thinking meant dwelling. Dwelling meant sad-Buffy. So far, act-first think-later had equalled normal conversation with Giles, which was most definitely of the good.

"Oh, damn," Giles sighed.

"Damn?" Buffy echoed, making the curse a question.

"Tara's quite correct. All the signs match." He handed her the book, pointing to the right-hand page. Buffy recognized a handful of words—_interfector _looked a bit like _Interfectrix_, or Slayer, and she thought she saw the word for 'world' in there. Usually accompanied by _Eversor,_ which always seemed to be capitalised. She peered up at her Watcher.

"Nifty," she said dryly. "What's it about?"

Giles looked a little sheepish—he'd forgotten she didn't read Latin. "W-well, this particular prophecy is rather brief. B-basically when all of these signs coincide it's a sure sign that, w-well that, the, ah…" Off came the glasses. He polished them furiously, giving himself time to compose himself. "That the Destroyer of Worlds is due to make an appearance," he finished ruefully, tipping his head to the side in a sort of shrug as he eased the glasses back on.

"Oh," Buffy said. "That could be a problem."

"Really?"

"You got a license for that sarcasm, Watcher-guy?"

Giles ignored her. "There's not much detail here," he commented at length. "Probably used to be, before someone trimmed off the excess in translation. There's a line that mentions vampires, almost as a throwaway. And there's a rather unusual epithet for the Destroyer in here as well—"

"Epithet?"

"Nickname. Something about the rising storms presaging the arrival of the mightiest storm of all—presumably referring to the Destroyer itself—and that like the storms (and I quote) 'You will know of his coming, yet none may stop him. He may end, but he will always return. He may pass, but he will always strike…'"

Buffy shrugged. "Sounds like typical bad-guy hype to me."

Giles snapped the book shut decisively. "I'll leave Tara a note. I need this to do some research."

"Um, Giles?"

"Hm?" he grunted distractedly.

"Don't you have a plane to catch?" Buffy looked away, trying to focus on anything but him.

Giles cleared his throat, looking ashamed. "My flight's not 'til tomorrow afternoon."

Buffy gaped at him. "Then why were you headed to LA this morning?"

Now Giles was the one avoiding her eyes, staring fixedly at the floor. "Running," he mumbled. "I was running away. Trying to get out before something like this happened, before I couldn't justify leaving." He looked up. "What did you mean to say this morning, Buffy?"

"We should go make with the research," Buffy said quickly, jumping up and heading for the door.

"Buffy."

She stopped, her hand on the door handle. "What do you want me to say?" She turned to face him. "I can't tell you what you want to hear. I was there to beg, Giles. I was there to play any card I had to if it would keep you here. 'Cause I need you, Giles. I don't need a freaking crutch. I need a friend."

"Buffy, I'm sorry, but I have to. It's the only way for—"

"I kissed Spike," she blurted. The Slayer clapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at her admission.

"Good god, Buffy, why?" Giles stared at her like she'd admitted a secret passion for opera.

Buffy shook her head and bolted out Tara's door.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Hours later, Giles glanced up at the knock at his door. He rose to answer it, hoping it was Buffy. He hadn't seen his Slayer since she'd ran off at the dorms.

Instead, Tara stood on his doorstep, holding his note.

"Tara, do come in."

"Th-thanks, Mr Giles," Tara said shyly, stepping inside. "I got your note. I-I thought maybe I could help? With the researching?" She smiled tentatively.

"Of course, Tara. I can always use help." He smiled warmly, touched as always by her basically good nature. She really was the sweetest, kindest person he'd ever met, even including sixteen-year-old Willow. "I, ah, I don't suppose you've seen Buffy about?"

Tara gave him a concerned look. "Not since last night." She winced.

"Oh, ah, dear…Would you, ah, like some, some tea?" he offered uncertainly.

"O-okay," Tara accepted.

On a sudden whim, Giles embraced the girl. "It'll get better," he promised in a fierce whisper. "In time she'll learn to stand on her own again. And who knows? Maybe then you can be together again. All as it should be."

Tara sniffled, smiling a little. "Why do I get the feeling you're not just talking about Willow?"

Giles smiled too, sadly. "Yes, I fear our situations are all too similar in some respects."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"Slayer! We need to talk."

"No we don't," Buffy replied, gritting her teeth.

Doggedly Spike followed her through the alleys behind the middle school. "We _kissed,_ you and me. All _Gone with the Wind_ with the rising music and the rising…music," he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Yes, Spike. We kissed during the bad, bad spell and when the bad, bad spell was over, we were _done_ kissing," Buffy replied, as though speaking to a child.

"Then what the hell was last night? Dancing? 'Cause it seemed very much like kissing, what with the lips and the touching and all. Are you even listening to me?" the vampire demanded.

"I only kissed you because I was thinking about Giles," Buffy insisted.

"_Really?_ Always wondered about youse two, all that sweating and grunting—"

"Ugh! _God_, you're gross! You _know_ what I—ow!" The Slayer reeled backwards, glaring up at a tall blue box which had taken up residence in the alleyway. "The hell?"

"Hey! That's a police box! Those buggers've been out of style longer than sodding _bell-bottoms_!" Spike exclaimed.

"A _what_ box?"

Spike pointed up at the sign: POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX. "Used to be all over London in the '60's. Emergency phones, yeah? Rung up the nearest police station or 'ospital."

"What's it doing here?"

"'Ow the 'ell am I supposed to know?" Spike asked indignantly. "_You _go break into your Watcher's flat, then."

_Break in?_ Buffy wondered for a moment, then remembered: Only she and Tara knew Giles was still here. "Unless phone booths are really the harbingers of the Apocalypse, I don't think there's anything to worry about." She wheeled on the vampire. "Go back to your crypt, Spike. Just leave me the hell alone."

"You know where to find me, luv," Spike shrugged. She'd come 'round.

_**Longer than usual! Couldn't resist a little TARDIS cameo. So this chapter set some stuff in motion, now we get to see how it plays out. Well, soon anyway.**_

_**So my decision is fast approaching: to ship or not to ship? Could go either way with Buffy & Giles at this point. I think it'll be pretty low-key if I do go for it—I *hate* it when B/G fics have them just randomly passionately (and of course, secretly) in love. I've always figured it'd be subtler, more the natural, gradual result of being really close and all in all not that much different than what they already have. After all, the whole thing relies on alternate character interpretation.**_

_**I dunno. What do you guys think? Won't really change the adventure either way, but character interactions are half the story, y'know? R&R!**_


	5. Chapter 5: First Impressions

**Chapter 5**

**In Which First Impressions Are Very Confusing**

_**A/N: Yeah, there really was no way to make an interesting title for this. Hopefully the story makes up for it. Sorry for not updating in a while…apparently, in college, we have these things called 'tests' and it helps to study for them. Who freakin' knew, right?**_

Since she never had actually gotten around to writing that paper, it was with some trepidation that Dawn approached her history class.

Absently she wondered what the new teacher would be like. All she knew was his name—Dr Bowman— and that he'd taken over indefinitely while Mr Daniels recovered from assorted vamp-related injuries. Or as the police report put it, multiple fractures resulting from an assault by PCP-hyped gangbangers and puncture wounds presumably inflicted with a barbecue fork. Layman's terms, Daniels had a leg in traction, a neck in a brace, and a transfusion tube in his arm. He wasn't coming back to work any time soon.

What made Dawn nervous was that while Daniels was an easy grader, there was no guarantee that Dr Bowman would be the same way. Would he flip out over her paper in front of the whole class?

And it wasn't exactly the first deadline she'd flubbed. She wondered if maybe she should have just written a sucky paper and been done with it.

Dawn's anxiety was not helped by the fact that the teacher wasn't even there yet. She'd hoped to be able to watch him for a few minutes before the lesson, maybe take a guess at how he'd react, maybe try to embellish her excuse with a few more personal touches.

Instead, she settled nervously into her seat. Her seat at the front of the class. Dammit dammit dammit.

She wished she'd gotten to know her classmates better. Wished one of them knew her enough to give her a sympathetic glance when the teacher went off on her, because teachers did that when you really, really, really didn't want them to even if normally they wouldn't because it wasn't in their characters but—

_Breathe,_ Dawn told herself, straightening her shoulders and fiddling with a pencil. _You're the embodiment of a universal constant. You'll get through this._

The classroom door shut with a bang.

"Right. That was…loud." The man who'd entered ran a hand through his hair. "Reckon it's all that metal they put on. Bit silly, the metal, I mean, what, do they think someone's gonna come in with a battering ram or something? And if they do, wouldn't it make more sense to put it on the _middle_ of the door, because unless that battering ram's being swung by an exceptionally strong midget, you're gonna hit the wood every time. Bit ridiculous, really." He threw his briefcase onto the desk.

"So."

_So,_ Dawn agreed, a little stunned. He was weird. And he was _cute_. Floppy brown hair nearly falling into rather nice greeny-blue eyes, a brilliant grin just a little bit crooked, clothes well-fitted but in a bit of disarray.

Okay, the clothes were weird though. Dawn had _never_ seen tweed on anyone younger than Giles, but since Dr Bowman ('cause he sure as hell wasn't one of her classmates) left the jacket open, it didn't make him seem so stuffy. The lack of a waistcoat probably helped too. Seriously, nothing spelled 'repressed' like wearing a three-piece-suit to your job at the local school.

Mostly what irked Dawn was the bow tie.

"Apparently," Dr Bowman began, scanning a copy of the syllabus, "you've all got a paper due today. Umm…" He looked a bit at a loss. "What was that on, then?"

Erin raised a hand. "A comparison of the causes of the French and American Revolutions, sir."

"Don't need to call me 'sir'. Doctor's fine. Or Dr Bowman, I guess. Since I am. Dr Bowman, that is. Everyone got that, right, I mean, I should've said something instead of just barging in, but I can't seem to help myself." The teacher set the syllabus down on the desk and quick as flipping a switch, his whole manner changed. He looked delighted now. "I'll just collect those after class then, shall I? So, quick review. Main causes of the French Revolution were?"

It was hard to focus on exactly what he was saying, but it was impossible to ignore him. His voice bounced around, loud then soft, rapid and certain then awkward and halting. Dr Bowman seemed to breeze through the discussion, never settling on a lecture style but ruling the room. He seemed rather volatile to Dawn, shifting from manic glee over the knowledge and details to a soft sadness over the injustices of the wars, then dialling the cheer back up for the sheer enjoyment of the discussion.

Once or twice a student dared to ask him to slow down. The breakneck speed of discussion was refreshing, but sometimes it was hard to understand Dr Bowman through his accent—something of a happy medium between Spike's robust, ribald Cockney and Giles's expressive, soothing upper-class tones. The British equivalent of the California accent? Dawn wondered. For some reason, the thought was hilarious and she struggled not to laugh. Dr Bowman, standing close to her desk, noticed.

"That's the spirit," he said softly, before he swung into an animated talk about the lavish expenditures of Versailles's residents.

All in all, Dawn decided she kind of liked Dr Bowman, which made it all the more difficult when she didn't have a paper to turn in.

"Not the first time that's happened, I'd reckon," the teacher guessed, raising an eyebrow. They were the only ones left in the room. His eyes bored into her, not glaring or teasing. Searching, but not actively. It was the way he looked at everything, she'd noticed. It was unnerving, but Dawn had been withstanding Giles's many different glares for years, and those weren't exactly for the faint of heart either.

She shoved Giles-thoughts into the back of her brain. She _really_ didn't need to go introspective on Dr Bowman.

Who was still awaiting a response.

"Um. No," she admitted, looking down her hands. She kept them tightly wrapped around each other—they kept twitching involuntarily at the gold pocketwatch on his desk.

_He'd notice,_ she scolded herself.

"Well, you're not lazy, you're not hung-over, and I don't really think you're just thick," Dr Bowman said bluntly. "Home life on the fritz?"

_You have no idea._ She just nodded.

"This your last class of the day?"

Another nod.

"Good. Come on, then," he gestured, and took a seat at one of the student desks.

And they talked. Mostly about the class, but sometimes Dr Bowman would throw something out about home or family. Dawn had never discussed home troubles in such an abstracted manner, but she found it helped to talk about everything as if it was hypothetical. She didn't mention much—just that her mother was dead, her sister was her guardian, and a close friend of the family had moved away recently.

By the time they were done, Dawn felt a just a little better, and had her paper written. Dr Bowman took it with a smile.

"I won't tell if you don't," he said.

Dawn grinned back. The smile faded as she looked out the window.

"Um, Doctor?" she called. She'd noticed he responded a lot faster to simply 'Doctor' than he did to Dr Bowman. She sort of absently wondered why at first, but now it was habit.

"Hmm?" he mumbled absently. "What?"

"It's, um, kind of getting dark out," Dawn pointed.

"Oh," Dr Bowman commented, surprised. "I guess I lost track of time." He seemed to find that enormously funny for some reason. Then again, Dawn had learned there were a lot of things Dr Bowman thought were freakin' hilarious.

"How long've you been in Sunnydale?" Dawn asked hesitantly.

"Coupla days, why?"

"Well, it's got small town charm in about the same doses as Cabot Cove, if you get me," Dawn explained. "Not such a nice place after dark."

"Oh." Dr Bowman's eyes widened as he took a second look at the window, seeming to finally comprehend. "Whoops." His brow wrinkled a little. "Why haven't you been picked up yet, then?"

"Good question," Dawn said quietly.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

The Doctor was faced with a dilemma. He really hadn't meant to stick around here so long with Dawn Summers. The conversation with her had come about as a combination of teacherly concern and the taste of lemons on his tongue. There were buckets of some sort of residual time energy clinging to the girl and after two days with no leads, he just had to see what was what.

Besides, if what she said about Sunnydale at night was true…inwardly, he frowned. He'd stayed in at night because Amy and Rory had, and because he'd needed to arrange his way into the school. Dawn was plainly the source of the energy he'd felt when they'd landed near the middle school—good job they had, too. Dawn walked these halls so often that the air of the school was thick with her time energy. Somehow, she was connected to the problem. The Doctor was pretty sure she wasn't the source of the problem, or at least, not knowingly. Just an innocent girl.

Which brought him back to Sunnydale at night. If it really was that dangerous—oh, blast. Amy had the Beetle to help her with her search around the town with the timey-wimey detector.

Oh well. It would give them more time to talk. Maybe he'd even figure out why she was loaded with miscellaneous

"I can walk home with you, if y'like," the Doctor offered.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"I can walk home with you, if y'like," Dr Bowman offered.

Dawn weighed her options for a moment. Willow would be distraught and distracted over Tara, Tara herself busy at college assuming Dawn was being looked after, Giles was gone, and Buffy was off wherever doing whatever it was that she did anymore. So she could either walk home alone or with a mostly-responsible adult.

She didn't think her history teacher would be much use against a vampire, but hey, it was the thought that counted, right?

_**Okay, so not much happened this chapter, I know. Mostly this was just because I needed to fit the Doctor into Sunnydale and I thought: Hey, I bet 11 and Dawn would get along well. I mean, Dawn's life's been taking a turn towards the emo and the Doctor's pretty much expert at cheerfully wading through that sort of thing. Much glory to anyone who remembers the Doctor's VW Beetle.**_


	6. Chapter 6: Not Bloody Likely

**Chapter Six**

**In Which Things Are Not Bloody Likely**

_**A/N: I **_**was**_** going to wait a few days before posting this (I like to be ahead at least 1 chapter) but since you've all been so lovely and reviewing, I put a rush on it and finished this one.**_

_**Finally getting some continuity between chapters now! It was beginning to feel a bit like **_**Partners in Crime**_** or something.**_

_**And, to Archivist, Laughy-Taffy the Grape, and any other reviewers who guessed at the car: Nope, it's not Bessie or the other car that the 3**__**rd**__** Doctor used (known to fans as the Whomobile). It's actually a nod to the Eighth Doctor Adventure novels. Eight drove an old maroon VW Beetle. It met its end in San Francisco, 2002, and the Doctor tried to replace it with a Metro with a VW symbol glued on the hood. His companions mocked him and made him get rid of it. However, since the books are non-canonical, I mock **_**them**_**and say that the noble Bug survived. Which, given some bizarre timey-wimey stuff later on, is not entirely impossible. The ol' Doc probably brought it out in a fit of nostalgia.**_

_**The Doctor's current alias, Dr James Bowman, is also an Eighth Doctor reference. That one comes from the mostly-canonical TV movie which, laughable half-human phlebotinum aside, gave form to one of my favourite Doctors. "Oh, these **_**shoes! **_**They fit **_**perfectly**_**!"**_

_**Enjoy!**_

Buffy tried to continue with her patrol, but her heart wasn't in it anymore. Encounters with Spike had a tendency to empty the wind from her sails. With a sigh of frustration and resignation, she turned in the direction of Giles's flat.

She had to face him some time. With any luck, he was feeling especially British today and had long since repressed their exchange. Or at least was feeling awkward enough about it to pretend it never happened.

A sharp scream caused Buffy's head to snap up. Young, high pitched…familiar.

School had let out hours ago.

"Dawn!" Buffy cried, dashing off in the direction of the scream.

"Buffyyyyy!"

Buffy appeared on the scene to see Dawn and a man in a knee-length coat and bow-tie being cornered by six vampires. Dawn had a little pocket-sized cross out, while the man at her side held a glowing blue UV light tube—or so Buffy assumed, given the vamps' reluctance to get near it. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hold them off forever, that was plain. Every so often a vamp would give a little test-reach, only to be rapped on the wrist for their pains.

Buffy skipped the 'witty banter' portion and jumped straight to the ass-kicking. One vamp went down without a fight, taken by surprise by her stake. Two of the vamps turned to fight her while the other three continued menacing Dawn and her escort.

"Get the hell away from my sister!" the Slayer yelled, dusting one vamp with a neat flanking manoeuvre and pummelling the other mercilessly. It didn't seem to be doing much good. There was no way the vampire could actually kill her, but it was doing a pretty good job at holding her off while his three friends did their work. "Dammit!" Buffy screeched. She was never going to make it in time!

Suddenly there was a high-pitched whirring noise, and the vamps covered their ears a split second before the sun rose in the street. Even Buffy hissed and threw an arm up over her eyes against the garish light.

_Garish light of day. Heehee,_ her dazed mind supplied, unable to process the sudden assault on her vision.

Gradually, Buffy realised that the light had gone. Purple and magenta spots danced in her eyes as she looked around the street. The vamps were gone, only ashes remained in the roadway. A sparking, fizzing noise directed Buffy's attention elsewhere. Dawn's friend was looking sheepishly at the slagged remains of his UV lamp.

"Setting may have been a bit high. _Really_ don't like killing things, though—wanted to keep the pain factor down a bit, y'know?" he explained, looking a little sad.

"Vampires," Buffy said distractedly. "Already dead." Dawn was leaning up against a shop window, wincing as she touched the back of her head. Her right ankle was twisted unnaturally.

"We need to get somewhere safe," Dawn's escort said decisively. "How far is home from here?"

"Too far," Buffy grunted, draping one of Dawn's arms over her shoulders. "There's a friend's place nearby though."

"Good enough," the man opined, supporting Dawn's other side. The lamp had vanished, though Buffy was too concerned over her sister to really notice.

"Come on, Dawn. Let's get you to Giles."

"Giles?" the girl murmured dazedly. "Gone."

"Not…exactly. You'll see." Buffy glanced across at the Brit. "I'm Buffy. Dawn's sister. Can you help?"

"That's what I do," he replied, flashing her a cheeky grin.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Buffy didn't knock on the door of the flat, working the handle with her free hand and bursting through.

The Doctor was a little surprised to hear the English accent of the man within.

"Good heavens! Is Dawn alright? What happened?"

Dawn had finally passed out from the pain of being jostled about with her injuries. "She will be," the Doctor replied to the first question, scooping his erstwhile student up and depositing her gently on the couch.

"Vampires," replied Buffy to the second. "Are you sure?" she asked the Doctor, seeming for the first time to relax around him. The Doctor realised she'd only now gotten proof that he was human—or at least, not a vampire—when he'd walked in uninvited. _And they say it never pays to be rude._

"Knock to the head wasn't that bad, and a twisted ankle never killed anyone," the Doctor replied, pulling the sonic screwdriver out and flickering the bulb briefly in both of Dawn's eyes. "Mildly concussed. Ice?" he asked, looking up at the flat's owner and noting the relevant details—forties-ish, brown hair, green eyes, slightly rumpled sweater, rectangular glasses. A teacher or scholar of some sort, the Doctor would have guessed, but he held himself wrong for that. Sounded to be an Oxford boy with Oxford schooling, a tinge of estuary much like the Doctor himself once had, just a touch of—Bath?—and a certain twist to his speech patterns that spoke of long years in West Coast America. Obviously. At a guess, this was the Giles Buffy had mentioned.

"I'll get some from the kitchen—" the Englishman glanced to the right and the Doctor spied a fridge.

"Never mind. I'll get it. You play catch-up."

The Doctor nearly ran into a young blonde woman on his way into the small kitchen.

"S-Sorry!" the tall girl whispered, combing nervously through her hair. "I-is Dawnie-?"

"She'll be fine," the Doctor assured her kindly, resting a hand on her shoulder and steering her gently towards the living room. He quickly located the ice, Ziplocs, and a clean dishtowel and returned to the injured girl at speed. Buffy held the makeshift ice pack to her sister's head while the other blonde found a blanket for her.

Giles, meanwhile, was eying the Doctor while rather worrisomely fidgeting with a letter opener on his desk. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"He's—" Buffy cut herself off when she realised that while she'd given him her name, she didn't know his.

"Dr James Bowman," the Doctor said, offering his hand. "History teacher at Dawn's school. She stayed late to talk about a paper—it was dark, so I offered to walk her home.

Giles shook his hand. "Rupert Giles. And, ah, Tara Maclay," he gestured at the tallest girl.

Well, woman, really. She probably wasn't that much younger than Amy, but Amy always seemed older than she was, somehow. Career Woman with her husband and her house and her grown-up daughter.

"Oh damn," the Doctor sighed. "Can I use your phone? Need to let the others know I won't be home 'til late," he explained.

"Oh, it's quite alright, you don't have to stay," Giles began.

"Rubbish. Won't be able to sleep 'til I know how this works out. I'll stick around, thanks."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

She told herself that she was annoyed. She'd had too much practice at being worried for concern to bother her this much, after all. The pacing? Simple irritation. Nail-biting? Venting frustration.

Nope. Not worried. Not a bit. _Annoyed_.

After all, if The Girl Who Waited wasn't entitled to a little impatience, who was?

So it was only natural that when the phone rang Amelia Pond rushed through the two-bedroom flat and pounced on it. She wouldn't seem half so laconic or self-righteous if she waited too long to pick up.

"'Lo?"

"Amy, that you? 'Course it is."

She let out a sigh of reli—_exasperation_. "Yeah, not to repeat m'self, but I'm Amelia, and _you're_ late!"

"Yes, yes, I know—sorry, got attacked by some vampires—"

"_What?_"

"I know," the Doctor said, almost too softly for her to hear. "They _really_ shouldn't be here; they've been extinct for millennia. I think this is a sort of hybrid strain—like what the Sisters of the Water were doing in Venice, mixing their blood with humans. That'd go a long way to explaining Earth's vampire legends."

"Vampires are real?"

"Of course vampires are real, Pond, I got attacked by them, haven't you been listening?" The Doctor said at normal volume this time, sounding lightly irritated. Then he was quiet again. "So I'll be out late, yeah? Don't hold up dinner for me, and _don't leave the house._"

"Not bloody likely! Rory's working a late shift at hospital," Amy objected.

"I'll swing by the flat and pick him up in the Bug. No," he said, overriding whatever she was about to say. "No buts. I don't want you out after dark, Amelia."

And like she always did when he called her that, she caved. "Okay," she agreed grudgingly. "I'll put some fish fingers on a tray in the freezer, yeah? And a thing of custard in the fridge. Time Lord or whatever, just, eat, okay?

"Amelia Pond, you are a goddess among women," the Doctor declared.

"Don't let River hear you talking like that."

"What, does she think I'm going to snog my own mother-in-law?" The Doctor laughed. Amy heard voices in the background now. "Ah, got to go. Good night, Pond."

"'Night, Doctor." Amy hung up the phone and sighed again. Dropping her notes on the Doctor's bed, she carefully set up the timey-wimey detector on the dinner table while her dinner heated in the microwave. She killed the sound on the box and sat down beside it, keeping an eye on the readout while she ate.

"Normal people watch the telly while they eat these," Amy said aloud to herself. "Me, I watch an alien machine scan for time-space anomalies. Budge up, weirdos, and give me my tinfoil hat."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Giles, like most people raised in good families, had been taught at an early age that eavesdropping was simply not done, and thus had quickly learned how to do it discreetly and from a distance. Even so, Dr Bowman was across the room and speaking quite softly; all that the Watcher could discern was that on the other end of the line was a woman named Amy whom the doctor wanted to stay inside, and that Bowman planned to pick up a bug and a bloke later that evening. A little odd, but harmless enough. Giles returned his attention to Dawn, who was beginning to stir.

"Buffy?" the teenager murmured.

"Here, Dawn," Buffy said, taking a seat on the couch next to her sister.

"Oh good," Dawn said faintly. Buffy handed her the ice pack. Dr Bowman hung up the phone and gently stopped Dawn from putting it to her head.

"Let's have a look at that, yeah?"

"Look at you, doctorin' like a real doctor, Doctor," Dawn cracked.

"I picked up an MD a while back," Bowman said in mock indignation. "Was about, oh three lifetimes ago?" He grinned. "Never did bother with the license."

"I feel so much better now," Dawn stated dryly.

"Dawn," Buffy reprimanded.

"What?" Bowman interjected lightly. "Good for the health, a little snark."

Buffy ignored him. "You can go now," she said dismissively. The tone that said she'd decided to disregard this new addition to her living hell.

"Not bloody likely," Bowman said pleasantly.

"Why the hell not?" Buffy demanded.

Giles was disappointed, but not surprised.

The doctor stared levelly at the Slayer. "Ms Summers, could we talk?"

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Buffy couldn't believe her ears. "You're trying to pin this on _me_?"

"I'm not trying to _pin_ anything on _anyone_," Dr Bowman insisted, sounding frustrated.

"Look, I don't have to take this from my kid sister's _history teacher,_" Buffy hissed. The two of them had stepped out into the courtyard to have this talk.

"No. You don't. You can go in _right now_ and pat Dawn's back and tell her it'll be alright and then you can forget to pick her up tomorrow and wonder why you're attending her bloody _funeral_ within the month," Bowman said harshly. If Buffy had been paying attention, she might have noticed he seemed more saddened than angered.

She wasn't paying attention. She was speechless.

For his part, the Doctor couldn't understand what was the matter with the woman. Plainly she had some experience with the night-time dangers of Sunnydale. And from Dawn's initial reaction when the vampires had attacked, that sort of trouble wasn't the half of it. So what, in the name of Rassilon, was so bloody important she couldn't pick up her own sister?

He wasn't to find out. Buffy turned on the spot and ran out of the courtyard.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

When Dawn at last declared she could see straight again, it was after 9:00. Dr Bowman and Tara left at the same time, the former with a cheery wave and the latter with an apologetic smile. A combination of exhaustion and pain meds had practically knocked Dawn out. She was in no shape to be wandering around in in Sunnydale after dark It looked like the girl would be spending the night. Of Buffy there was no sign.

Giles lifted Dawn gently and took her upstairs, pulling her shoes off and tucking her into the guest bed. Then he returned to his research, half in hopes of finding something and half as an excuse to watch the door. He couldn't imagine that in her state of upset she'd head home to Willow, given how it had been her spell that had torn the Slayer from her rest. His flat was the only place she had to go. Unless…

"_I kissed Spike."_

Surely she wouldn't turn to a soulless _vampire_ over her own Watcher? Could she really be that far gone, that she found a…a…_monster's _company greater comfort than his own?

Unless, of course, his tactile and recently isolated Slayer was seeking a different sort of comfort entirely. _That_ thought drove deeper than the others, and he was halfway to the weapons chest before he realised what he was doing. Giles clenched his fists and sighed, turning on the sport and picking up the _Index Infernal_ from where he'd thrown it in his moment of fury. If Spike truly was Buffy's solace, slaying him would only exacerbate his Slayer's suffering. And Dawn was friends with the leech, somehow. It wouldn't do to take yet another loved one from the poor girl—however bizarre the relationship was.

Given the maudlin plausibility of his thoughts, small wonder that Giles startled and reached for a letter opener when there came a knock at his door. Shaking his head, he yanked his hand back from the impromptu weapon and pulled the door open to reveal Buffy, looking dishevelled and forlorn.

"I'm a bitch," she stated, sniffling.

"What? No, Buffy, you—oh, good heavens, you're drenched!" Giles stepped halfway outside, resting a hand on the small of Buffy's back and steering her gently inside.

"Wait there a moment, I'll get towels—Buffy, you're _not_ a bitch, and what on Earth _happened_ to you?" He put a towel around her shoulders.

"Lakeview Cemetery. Fell in the pond. And I am _so_ a bitch—or no, is there a _stronger_ word? 'Cause that's me, Buffy Überbitch Summers!" She clutched the towel closer and slipped into the bathroom, changing into a spare set of clothes that she kept around for training.

When she emerged, Giles guided his marginally calmer Slayer over to the couch.

"Where's Dawn?" Buffy asked—rather reasonably, given that the way she'd left the flat meant she was sitting about where Dawn's head ought to be.

"The guest room." Suddenly, the import of what Buffy had said sunk in. "_Fell? _You mean a vampire pushed you?"

"If 'vampire' is the new word for 'rock' and 'pushed' is replacing 'tripped up'." Buffy finished drying her hair and absently let the towel fall to the floor. "I'm an _incompetent _bitch, too."

Giles slipped his glasses off, seating himself beside her. "What on Earth makes you think you're a bitch?"

"I ignore my sister, I push away my friends, I throw myself at the mass murderer and then I give him the cold shoulder—God, I can't even be decent to _Spike_! I've even scared you off and I didn't think that was _possible_! And that makes me a bitch too, 'cause you have feelings too, right? I mean, I'm not the only person in the world with feelings! Why don't I remember that more?"

"Buffy, you were just ripped from your eternal rest." Giles hated using her own argument against her—especially since really, he wanted her to _stop_ thinking like that. But self-loathing would be far worse for his fragile Slayer.

"Exactly! I _was_! _Was,_ Giles! Past tense!" She looked at him pleadingly. "I've been _wallowing_! Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I-I believe the others t-tried," Giles stammered, wishing he had a handkerchief on him. He could have sworn there was a speck of dust on the lenses in his hands that hadn't been there before.

"And I didn't listen. 'Cause I'm a bitch."

"Not bloody likely," Giles informed her, putting an arm around Buffy's shoulders. "A bitch knows what she's doing to people and does it anyway. I'm afraid you've only just cottoned on." He smiled sadly.

"Huh?"

"Now that you realise how you've been acting, you can try to do better."

Buffy looked up at him hopefully. "Doesn't everyone hate me?"

"_Hate_ you? Buffy, don't be ridiculous, no one hates you."

She looked back at her lap. "Dawn does."

"What? Buffy, Dawn_ loves_ you. You're her sister. She's been practically glowing since you've been back.

"Yeah, until I started practically ignoring her, forgetting her at school, just generally failing at parent substitution and then, just for kicks, forcing her _other _substitute parent onto a plane to England."

Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, realising what she'd said. "Oh God. I promised I wouldn't bring that up after this morning…" _And the parent thing. Oh God, oh God, oh God…_

_That_ was what he'd _really_ taken exception to.

"It's okay." Giles marvelled a little—Buffy's concern for others had re-emerged. Thinking of how her actions affected _others _rather than merely herself…he didn't really mind that Dawn thought of him as a father—actually, it gave him a certain sense of pride. It was when _Buffy_, the adult, the woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, came hunting for a parent figure that he balked. Sixteen years old when they first met, she didn't need a new parental authority _then,_ let alone at the age of twenty.

"Actually, I'm fairly certain it's _me _she's got the grudge against," the Watcher admitted. "She, ah, locked herself in her room last night and screamed at me when I tried to talk to her."

"She _what?_" Buffy straightened and fixed him with a disbelieving stare. "I thought she only did that to _me._"

"Yes, well, _you're_ not hopping a plane and leaving her." Giles shook his head.

Buffy nestled under his arm, looking sleepily glum. She yawned a little. "I think she's more hurt because she gets it. She wants to get away, too."

"I don't want to get away," Giles murmured. "I'm just not needed. And I need you to realise that."

"Wouldn't blame you if you did wanna. 'n' you are _too_ needed." She yawned again. "Norra crutch…"

"Buffy?" Giles asked softly.

There was no reply. The Watcher smiled a little and lifted the elder Summers sister too, tucking her into his own bed before returning downstairs.

_My last night here and I end up on the couch,_ he reflected ruefully. Giles crossed to where his jacket hung and pulled out his ticket. He sank into the chair at his desk, wondering how such a small piece of paper could cause so much stress.

_***gasp* so **_**what **_**will Giles **_**do?**

…_**Yeah, okay, so you know I'm not writing him out of the story. Can we at least **_**pretend**_** this is a cliffhanger? Jeez! Besides, there's no telling exactly **_**how**_**I'm keeping him around…**_

_**I know it was a little OOC for the Doctor to go off on Buffy like that, but he kinda does get pissed when people screw up that bad. Maybe not as pissed as he's known to get at **_**himself**_**, but y'know. Buffy had to come to her senses **_**some**_**how.**_

_**R&R! Yay, readers! You guys are super-special-awesome!**_

_**Yami: Oh **_**gods**_**, not you too…**_

_**Buffy: Hey! What's this anime freak doing horning in on my story!**_

_**Giles: Buffy, calm down, there will be **_**no**_**card games **_**or **_**5000 year old Egyptian leather-clad ghosts in this story.**_

_**Doctor: Don't worry, I'll take him home. Come on, Pharaoh. **_

_***TARDIS engines***_

_**Buffy: W-wait, the leather's going **_**away?**

_**Giles: Buffy!**_

_**Buffy: What? I've got a **_**pulse**_**, you know!**_

_**Giles: Dear Lord… *polishes glasses***_

_**Buffy: Jeez! What, I'm supposed to find **_**tweed **_**sexy?**_

_**Giles: …?**_


	7. Chapter 7: Bug, Bloke and BowTie

**Chapter Seven**

**In Which a Bug, a Bloke, and a Bow-tie are Prominent**

_**A/N: Sorry it's so stellar-ly late, but things have been sort of tumbling down around my poor little ears lately.**_

_**Yay! Plot! …Sort of! I love watching these guys interact, but I promised an adventure, too. And guess what: Since after this chapter, people (*cough* **_**Buffy**_** cast *cough*) are finally starting to **_**get the freak over themselves, **_**the angst level should go down considerably! This'll have to do until the plot bunnies bite again.**_

_**Anya: The plot **_**WHAT?**

_**Xander: It's okay, Ahn, chill. M'lady author didn't mean it literally. They're **_**metaphorical **_**bu—um…**_

_**Giles: Lagomorphs.**_

_**Anya: Oh. Good. Sorry, m'lady author.**_

_**Gods. I'm sorry 'bout that. Yami broke the fourth wall when he showed up. I wrote the Doctor a plot hook that **_**should **_**set him on a short story culminating in him fixing the bloody thing, and possibly sonicking some Daleks in an epic manner. I just hope it's not banjaxed for good, writing those cast convos is really freaking distracting and I can't seem to stop. It's all my fault. I should never have said 'super-special-you-know-what'. I just needed a way to tell you readers how great you guys are…thanks so much for reviewing!**_

"It's a bow-tie. Bow ties are cool." He straightened it importantly, tucking the screwdriver back inside his jacket.

Warren rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Andrew," he sighed, hauling himself into the now-exposed ventilation shaft.

"Why are you wearing that, anyway? Only dorks wear bow-ties." Jonathan asked as they waited. He eyed the vivid red of the neckwear uncertainly.

"'Cause I don't have a tuxedo," Andrew sulked, shrugging deeper into his sports jacket. "And I'm _not _a dork. I am a geek. A geek is knowledgeable about obscure subjects. A dork is just lame."

"Why would you want a tuxedo?"

"Well, when James Bond breaks into places, he always wears a tux," Andrew said defensively.

"Aw, man! We shoulda wore tuxes!" Jonathan exclaimed, looking vexed.

"I know, right? When this job is done, we should all go out and buy some!"

The door to the guard station swung open. "You morons just going to stand around all day? Come on!" Warren turned impatiently and strode back inside.

Inside, the security guards lay unconscious on the floor. Warren tucked the stun gun into his backpack. "You know what we're looking for. Check the monitors."

The Doctor drummed his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. He glanced at the three devices on the seat to his right (he'd bought this beauty in America, and though most of his cars had been European, he'd picked the habit up soon enough and really, considering the TARDIS, he wasn't very used to driving from _any_ sitting position anyway). Neither of the mobiles had lit up with a call and the timey-wimey detector was still giving its normal output. The hospital was one of the stronger sources of the mysterious energy—not _really _strong enough to warrant posting Rory there on such a permanent basis, but from the moment the TARDIS crew had stepped inside, the nurse had gotten…twitchy. Giving a second glance to every patient and having to consciously keep himself from helping them.

The Doctor had figured there was no point in _two _of them feeling helpless, and instead of asking Rory to stop by the hospital more often, he'd suggested the nurse apply to Sunnydale General to keep a more constant eye on the place. Amy's husband had certainly seemed more cheerful since he'd picked up his old job again.

The Nokia ringtone blared and the Time Lord scooped up Amy's phone, glancing at the caller ID.

**Rory :) ! Calling**

"Three?" the Doctor murmured disbelievingly, shaking his head. He accepted the call.

"Yes, hello, sorry, not your wife, thought she should stay in tonight on account of the whole cast of the Masquerade showing up in town. I'm in the car park. Where are you?"

_~"In the nurses' lounge—what do you mean, the Masquerade?"~_

"Never played that game? Never mind, neither did I. I thought everyone had at least _heard _of that, though. Or is that more an American thing? And I should've said 'parking _lot', _really."

~"Doctor—"~

"Fine, _keep_ wasting your wife's minutes."

Rory paused. _~"I'm in the lobby now, mind pulling up to the front?"~_

"Just a tick." The Doctor hung up and tossed Amy's phone into the back seat, pitching his Blackberry after it and wedging the timey-wimey detector half-under his seat, so that he could still see the display if it chimed at him. He grimaced a little when he saw a fleck of nail lacquer on the gearshift. At a guess, Amy hadn't realised she was reaching with the wrong hand until the last minute and had scrabbled for the stick. The Doctor sighed as he expertly pulled out of the space. He just hoped his _parents-in-law _wouldn't be the ones to finally total his car.

Rory glanced from the hospital doors to the Doctor and back. "And my infinitely more attractive wife isn't picking me up as discussed because…?"

"'Cause I didn't want her out while the vampires were?" the Doctor suggested, drumming his long, thin fingers against the steering wheel.

"Oh, okay. Wait, _what?_"

"Are you getting in or _checking _in?" the Doctor inquired mildly.

"What—oh, right, sorry." Distractedly, Rory got in and buckled himself in. "_Vampires_?" the nurse demanded as the characteristically impatient Time Lord pulled away from the curb.

"Yes, vampires are real, yes, they're here, no, they shouldn't be."

"So why _are _they?"

"Possibly they're attracted to whatever's causing the time energy fluctuations."

"What if they're attracted to the energy itself?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, no, no, don't be daft, Rory, vampires are complete nulls for time-awareness. Not even a _hint _of sensitivity to time energy."

"Weird," Rory mused, letting the rebuke roll off into the sea of them that had accumulated over the years. "I mean, vampires are energy hunters, right? Blood equals life equals energy. So why can't they sense a huge supply of potential food like that?"

"Oh, Rory. You had to pick _now _to be clever?" The Doctor sighed. "Vampires don't age, Rory. Of course they don't grow _old_; they're dead, after all. But they don't decompose, for all that. They last through the ages, unyielding, unchanging. They've gone beyond cheating death—they're cheating Time. Every step they take is an abomination to Time itself. Rory noted with some apprehension that the Time Lord was white-knuckling the wheel. The Doctor caught him looking and smiled sheepishly, loosening his grip.

"Sorry 'bout that. Instinct." The Doctor shrugged. "The Daleks were our greatest foes—_are_, I suppose in my case—but vampires…when there's enough vampires around, it's like having a voice in my blood. 'Aberration.' 'Monster.' 'Wrong.'" He grimaced.

"A voice…in your blood," Rory repeated, not following.

"You've been to the zoo, yeah? The lion enclosure? And there's that feeling…like if the bars weren't there, you just _know _you'd be dead, and something inside you screams to do _anything _to get away. Because that creature before you is a predator, a hunter, and _you _are its prey.

Rory shivered. The Doctor smiled grimly. "Ah, see, you know what I'm talking about. That's good.

"I don't."

Rory looked at him sharply. That tight little smile was still there. The alien didn't take his eyes off the road—and for the first time, it truly struck Rory that no matter how he acted, the creature beside him was _not _human in the slightest.

"Have you ever wondered, during those times at the zoo, what the _lion_ felt? Because I can tell you. The Time Lords are the oldest mortal race in this universe. I am _no one's _prey. But my kind are…rather good hunters."

"Is it really that…strong?"

"Pretty much." The Doctor gave him a much more familiar smile: a smug grin. "But I'm stronger."

"I guess you'd like me to keep quiet about this to Amy?"

The smile faded. "Up to you. I lost the right to keep things from Amy a very long time ago."

Still a little wary, and sensing that the Time Lord's mood had taken a turn for the maudlin, Rory fell silent."

"I _told _you so!" Jonathan exclaimed.

"Fine. Thank you, oh mighty Jonathan, for this rare winning shot in the craps game that is your logic," Warren declaimed dramatically, clasping his hands before him and rolling his eyes. "I should have guessed that the piece of _technology _we're looking for was _actually_ across the damn complex from the _Technology _Centre!"

"You shoulda trusted me, man; you _know _I'm the one who's been here before!" Jonathan protested hotly.

"You based your opinion off of _one _glimpse of the _one _real location ping we got," Warren said emphatically, jabbing a finger at the modified GPS locator in his hand.

"Guys, I found it!"

Argument temporarily forgotten, they ran towards the last member of the Trio.

"I mean, it _looks _like it," Andrew modified hastily, not wishing to be chastised for his impatience. He fidgeted anxiously with his bow tie.

"Well, it sure doesn't look like _much,_" Jonathan commented critically.

"S-sorry," Andrew stuttered.

"No, man, that's it!" Warren cried excitedly.

"Are you going to tell us what it _is_?"

"The gateway to powers beyond this Earth," Warren announced grandly.

"The Dark Portal?" Jonathan deadpanned.

"Moron, that's Azeroth," Andrew frowned, lisping a little over the world's name. "He's _obviously _talking about the Stargate." He smoothed the edges of the bow tie.

Warren hit them both upside the head. "Idiots. _World of Warcraft_ isn't real. And will you _stop_ with the goddamn bow-tie!" Warren yanked Andrew's neckwear loose, tossing it over his shoulder. The blond immediately dived to the floor after it, scrabbling around in the shadows. "I'm talking about _aliens,_ nutjobs, not any of that fantasy crap. C'mon, Jonathan, help me move this."

It was only when his fellows had nearly rounded the corner with their prize that Andrew gave up the search. He loosened his collar a little, trying to make it look artfully rumpled, before racing after the others. "Guys, wait up!"

Time passed. Buffy fell in the pond. Rory arrived home and joined his wife in bed. The Trio returned with their prize. Giles tossed and turned in a fitful sleep, plagued by doubts and fears of the coming day. All of Sunnydale slept on the knife's edge, waiting to topple into tomorrow. And long after even the vampires had tucked themselves away against the rising sun, the Last of the Time Lords stood at the console of the very last TARDIS, lost in thought.

_Meanwhile, in an alternate universe…_

"And you're certain the Infinite Dragonflight has made no further incursions upon the flow of Time?"

"Pretty sure, yep."

The Dragonqueen glanced at the Bronze emissary. "That is good. We have issues en—" Suddenly Alextrasza whipped her head back, eyeing the other dragon askance. "Ambassador Chronormu, what in the name of sanity have you got on your robes?"

Chromie adjusted the vibrant red accessory proudly. "It's a bow-tie. I wear a bow-tie now. Bow-ties are cool."

_**For those who didn't catch that last bit, it's from World of Warcraft. So there are 5 kinds of dragons, and the Bronze dragons can exist all through time. One dragon that the player runs into a lot is Chronormu, who likes to take the form of a female gnome despite possibly being male (I'm **_**not **_**explaining all that, Google it) whose notable traits include a motor mouth, verb tense confusion, and eccentricity to rival the Doctor himself.**_

_**I don't know how many people are aware of the backstory between the Time Lords and the vampires, but I assure you there is one. I know that there was some kind of war and that later the Fourth Doctor found a surviving Great Vampire and staked his sorry self…well, at least, it was bye-bye Great Vamp by the end of the story…but beyond that, I don't really know that much. So I'll just roll with what I know and blissfully murder the ancient lore of the Time Lords by replacing it with my own. Hey, it'll make the story work. R&R!**_

_**The Doctor: Good news, everyone! Fourth wall's fixed!**_

_**Amy: You mean it **_**was**_** fixed.**_

_**Willow: Nice job breakin' it, hero.**_

_**Strange Voice: I summon the Wall of Illusions! Anything sent at the Wall is returned to sender at the cost of their Life Points!**_

_**Dawn: Wait, what?**_

_**Strange Voice: Why fix a broken, fragile wall when you can summon a stronger new one?**_

_**Buffy: Who the f*** are you?**_

_**Strange Voice: I am someone who is most definitely not a 5000 year old leather-clad card-playing Egyptian ghost. The Wall should be taking effect any time now. I'm out of here. You're welcome, Anbee.**_

_**Note to self: Renegade Time Lords are really bad at fixing things that, whilst broken, provide distraction and comedy (Exhibit A: The TARDIS, but then we love her as she is). Still, that'll teach **_**me **_**to hire in-house. In reverse, pharaohs have no sense of humour, and are shockingly susceptible to cutsey-eyes (Exhibit A: Yugi Motou's Face). Even if they're not the most respectful. I mean, 'Anbee'?**_

_**Yami: I am not in your bloody story. I am not answerable to you. I will call you whatever I like.**_

_**Wait—but you're fictional—wall breakage doesn't work both ways—how—**_

_**WALL OF ILLUSIONS TAKES EFFECT**_

…_**Wait, Yami? Yami? Pharaoh! My new fourth wall is staring at me! And I think it has fangs! What, did I write in the LittleKuriboh Yami by accident? Oh well. At least the wall's back!**_

_**Wall: Feed me!**_

_**Oh, hell.**_


	8. Chapter 8: Challenge and Spiral

**Chapter Eight**

**In Which a Challenge is Issued and Things Go Downhill Fast**

_**A/N: Whee, sorry for the crappy formatting last chapter…I forgot to add in the extra gaps between paragraphs and so on… **_

_**Not to mention that it edits out triple exclamation points, so Amy's phone displays Rory! and the Doctor randomly mutters 'Three?'.**_

_**But you're all clever, I'm sure you worked it out *cringes*.**_

_**And of course, above all, I apologise for how late this has been in coming. Suddenly, we're **_**moving **_**over Spring Break.**_

_**Yeah.**_

_**And I'm pleased to report that the fourth wall is still intact!**_

_**Wall of Illusions: Feed meeeeeee…**_

_**Shut it, Audrey.**_

_**Wall: FEEEEED MEEEEEE!**_

_**But I don't know what you eat!**_

_**Wall: *glances hungrily at Chapter Select***_

_**What? No! I'm not feeding you my chapters! Gah! Get thee gone, beast! **_**En garde**_**!**_

_**Wall: **_**Feed me**_**! *brandishes sabre***_

_**B-but you haven't got hands! YOU HAVEN'T GOT HANDS! Oh gods. Here, I've got to go…find something sharp…**_

To her surprise, when Amy located the Doctor at last he was in fact slumped over the dining table, snoring lightly.

_Aha! He DOES sleep,_ she thought smugly.

"Alright, Doctor. You've got a world-savin' quota to fill. C'mon now, up y'get." Amy slid a hand under his folded arms and pulled one of his braces, snapping it at him like an elastic band.

"Ouch! What the—! Pond!" The Time Lord looked about wildly, finally spotting the Scotswoman trying to contain a laugh by the kitchen counter. At his look, she broke, bursting into gales of laughter and gripping the counter for support.

"Oh—my—_God_, you should've seen your _face._ Rory!"

"What? What's wrong?" Rory dashed into the kitchen and saw his wife practically collapsed against the counter hiccupping while the Doctor glared.

"I missed something, didn't I?"

"Nothing important," the Doctor promised him, gritting his teeth. "Honestly! Can't a bloke get a bit of a kip around here? Been up all night, you know!"

"That's not usually a problem," Rory observed, seeing Amy was still in no state to reply. "What's it you always say? 'Sleep is for tortoises?'"

"Well yeah, but I haven't slept in the past _week_, it catches up," the Doctor groused, levering himself out of the chair and stretching.

"How much sleep _do_ you need?" Amy inquired, now recovered from her laughing fit.

"Used to need about a night a week; I can go about a week and a half now in my old age," the Doctor shrugged. "Oh dear, is today a school day?"

"Tuesday," Amy nodded.

The Doctor groaned, turning on his heel and vanishing into his bedroom. "_Rassilon_, I've got another _four days_ of this?"

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Buffy woke and looked around for a moment, confused as to why the window was on the wrong side of the bed and why the sheets smelt of Giles' laundry detergent, not her own.

She groaned as she remembered the night before. Ooooh yeah, she should _definitely_ teach a class on 'how to convince people you're not using them as emotional crutches'. Step one: Arrive on their doorstep in tears in the middle of the night, then pour your heart out to them, and finally, _fall asleep on them_.

_Great move, Buff. Great. Move._

According to the clock, it was six-thirty. She slipped out of Giles' bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to rinse the dried pond water out of her hair. She winced. _Step four: leave pond scum on their pillowcases. Have I mentioned? Great freaking move!_

She peeked in on Dawn on the way downstairs. The teen was still fast asleep, curled up under the sheets of the guest bed.

Thus, with some trepidation, Buffy headed downstairs.

Giles was already awake, glasses dangling from one hand as he squinted at a thick leather volume.

"I hear those work better in front of your eyes," Buffy said at length.

Giles jumped, not having heard her. "Oh! Buffy," he gasped, sliding the lenses on. "H-how long have you been standing there?"

"Meh, two minutes? Don't worry, if you were proposing to that book, I didn't see."

"Ah. Well." The Watcher seemed at a loss for how to respond to that.

"Yeah." Buffy hugged her arms awkwardly. "Dawn's still asleep."

"School?"

"Doesn't start until eight. She's got another twenty minutes or so before I have to drag her home to get ready."

Giles nodded. "Buffy," he began.

The Slayer braced herself.

"About England—my going back—"

"Giles, it's alright, I know—"

"—I thought it might be wise if I—"

"—I shouldn't have, it was just—"

"—just for a little while, some research, then maybe—"

"—I've got so much to get back together—"

"—see how you handle it for a day or so, then—"

"—it's not fair to you or to anyone—"

"—maybe I could come back."

"—and I should…wait…" Buffy stopped, staring at him. "What did you just say?"

Giles took a deep breath. "This prophecy Tara found—it's worrying, and the more I find out the less I like it. I need to look at the Council library, but I wonder if…you seemed to come to some sort of resolution last night…so I have, well, a bit of a challenge for you."

"Okay," Buffy agreed, mystified.

"What Willow and the rest did is inexcusable," Giles began, "but their reasons were not totally selfish. Of the four of them, Willow and Tara are the only ones who might have thought to search the higher planes for you before resurrecting you, and Tara—she's a pure soul, and she saw a way to help her friends. Willow just wanted her best friend back, at the core of things. But what you have to remember, whether they had no way of knowing better or whether they allowed themselves to believe what they wished, they genuinely believed they were rescuing you from an eternity of torment. I can't begin to imagine how much it hurts to be back on Earth after what you've been through, but can _you_ imagine how wounded _they _must be, knowing they've subjected you to the very fate that they thought they had saved you from?"

Buffy's eyes widened.

Giles nodded. "Thus, my challenge. _Talk to them_. I'm not expecting you to get together and laugh and have everything back to normal. However, I will go to England, and I will do my research, and in a few days I will call Tara, who has agreed to keep an eye on you all for me. She will tell me how you and the others have done at, er, mending bridges, as it were. I know the pain you're feeling must be unbearable, but how on Earth do you expect to feel better if you shut down?" Giles stood and embraced the Slayer, whose eyes had begun to take on that bright glassy look of someone determined not to cry. "You once told Dawn that the hardest thing to do in this world is to live in it. Friends make it easier, Buffy—you know that better than anyone." He straightened again, smiling a little. "Besides, you're _my_ Slayer. You can do anything, since you've had such a brilliant teacher."

He _almost_ managed it with a straight face.

Buffy smirked faintly. "You betcha." She rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'll talk to them. Or I'll try. I'm pretty sure they've got exactly zero interest in talking to _me_."

"You might be surprised," Giles said softly, picking up the book he'd been reading and putting it on its shelf. "So. Seeing me off to the airport, then?"

"Only if I know I'll be heading there myself soon to pick you up again," Buffy said, crossing her arms.

"We'll see. Oh, and Buffy?" Giles said, turning back towards her. "I'd rather you didn't mention our little bet to the others. I wasn't just making excuses earlier, you know—I do rather wonder how you'll all manage without me."

"Probably won't," Buffy shrugged. "Every group needs a level-headed British guy."

"I suppose I'll just have to settle for not finding the _town_ levelled when I return."

Buffy grinned. "You said _when_."

Giles covered it up by saying: "Well, I wouldn't be much of a Watcher if I didn't have faith in my Slayer."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

When Buffy and Dawn got home, there was no sign of Willow. Buffy chivvied Dawn through preparations and breakfast, and once the teen was out the door, Buffy hesitantly approached Willow and Tara's—Willow's—room.

"Willow?" Buffy called softly through the door.

No response.

Buffy knocked gently. "Will?"

Sniffling, the redheaded relapsed witch opened the door.

"Buffy?"

_Traitor. Ripped you from your peace. Tore your soul away from the only rest you've ever known—_

"Can I come in?"

"Y-you don't wanna be around me right now, Buffy." Willow made to close the door.

"Oh, nuh-_uh_," Buffy objected, stopping the door with her foot. "No way. If_ I_ don't get to curl into a ball and cry, _you_ don't. Everyone's been urging me to talk things out with my friends, and you most of all. So why don't you just take your own advice?"

Willow crumbled and flung the door open, bundling herself into Buffy's arms.

"Oh God, Buffy, I just keep screwing up, and now you hate me, and Tara can't stand to be around me, and _everyone_ hates me and they're _right_ and it's _all my fault_—!"

"Well, you got the last part right, anyway," Buffy told her.

If anything, this seemed to make Willow cry harder.

"Look, Will, all this means is we get to try harder next time, okay?" Buffy tentatively reached up and rubbed Willow's back.

"What do you mean, try harder?" Willow backed away from Buffy, looking determined. "Buffy, Tara asked me to choose between magic and her, and she _left_, and it hurts, and magic's all I've got left, but I know…" She turned and went back into her room. "I'm trying, really I am. Please, Buffy, just…don't. I know I can't expect you to forgive me, but…"

There was a loud _thud_ from inside the bedroom. Buffy pushed past a protesting Willow and her eyes widened.

"Amy? Amy _Madison_? Um, how've you been?"

"Rat. You?"

"Dead."

"Oh."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Dawn cleared her throat. "Doctor?"

Doctor Bowman turned away from the chalkboard he was clearing and smiled. "Ah! Dawn! How's the head and the ankle?"

"Um, f-fine. I just wanted to thank you. For walking me home and everything."

Bowman's brow knitted in consternation. "Didn't get to walk you far. You got home okay, though?"

"Yeah," Dawn replied. "Actually, ended up staying the night at Giles's. Um, Doctor, if you don't mind me asking, what did you say to Buffy?"

Bowman cringed slightly, looking away. "Ah. Yeah, sorry about that."

"No, no, no! Don't be sorry! She's actually been a lot more, well, 'Buffy' since then," Dawn explained.

"Really? Good to hear." Doctor Bowman clicked his briefcase shut, hanging his tweed jacket over one shoulder. "Speaking of walking home, is your sister coming to pick you up?"

"Y-yeah, she's supposed to be here in a few moments." No matter how nice he was, talking with a teacher was _always_ awkward. "So yeah, I just wanted to say thanks."

"And you're more than welcome," Doctor Bowman assured her.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Amy Madison turned off the TV with a groan. "Hey, Willow," she began, smiling wickedly. "You need to get over Tara, I need to get over the exercise wheel…"

"Yeah?"

"You know what I think we need? A girls' night out." She rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows against the floor.

Willow looked concerned. "I-I don't know, Amy…"

"Oh come on, Will," Amy coaxed. "Live a little. You're never going to get better by _moping_. Have a little fun, huh? Life's short. Seize the moment."

_The strobe lights flashed and the music pounded._

"_Well, my philosophy—d'you wanna hear my philosophy?" The glamorous new student glanced over at Willow, who nodded. "Life is short."_

"_Life is short?"_

"_Well yeah. Life is short. Seize the moment, 'cause tomorrow, you might be _dead_," Buffy shrugged._

_The world tore—Buffy falling—a hidden grave—three months of _hell_—_and she'd thought death might not be the end—

Death was always the end. Life was short.

Seize the moment.

"You know what? You're right." Willow grinned a little recklessly. "I'll go get dressed."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

That night, the Doctor walked the streets of downtown Sunnydale alone. There was something _else_ here besides Dawn, he was sure of that. But whatever it was, it was very faint, like it had been long abandoned here. In fact, while he could tell by the waves it gave off that it was a _source _of potential time energy, it was hardly stronger than the numerous traces of latent energy that filled the town.

Honestly, the backstreets of the Gallifreyan Capitol had had fewer latent signatures than this. More sources, but honestly! Whoever had introduced time energy here had been _very _sloppy about it.

And then there was yet _another_ anomaly that he kept picking up by the ruins of the high school—but the time energies he was picking up there, while stronger than this 'abandoned' signal, were still far weaker than Dawn's. It would have been easier to track, but there was something about the place that pricked him uneasily—as thought warning him off, and for once in his life (though he wasn't quite sure why) the Doctor found himself heeding that warning, striding away through the darkness in search of his phantom.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

After discovering the de-ratted Amy in her best friend's room, Buffy hadn't felt much like talking about anything. _Originally_, the plan was to come to a mutual non-apology with Willow and then maybe have a talk about a certain bleach-blonde vampire. Instead, she'd fumbled out an awkward conversation with the two witches and then hastily excused herself.

Buffy had gone next to Anya and Xander's apartment. Xander had barely been able to look at her, his eyes filled with shame. Anya, as always ruthlessly practical, had sat on a kitchen stool and heard her out.

"You know, we _are_ all sorry. We totally wouldn't have helped Willow with that spell if we'd known we were dragging you into a living hell," she'd said cheerfully.

"Ahn," Xander had hissed.

"What? It's true. We only helped because we were all morons and took Willow's word for it that Buffy was in hell."

"But Ahn—"

"Xander," Buffy had interrupted. "I-it's okay. I…I sort of had a bit of a…talk, with Giles, and…"

She hadn't been sure what to say after that, so instead the Slayer had caught Xander in a fierce hug.

"Glomping? Oh, okay! Glomping is totally an okay way of ending that sentence," Xander had voted, hugging her back. "Look, I know we can't fix this with a 'sorry', but—" He gasped as Buffy squeezed tighter. "Buff? Air?"

"Then don't try," she'd said sternly, letting him go. "It's done, I'm here, I'm alive, and I need you guys to help me make the most of it. 'Kay?"

Buffy smiled at the memory. An uneasy conversation between the three had eventually settled into the more familiar patterns of before Buffy's death. It looked like _those_ bridges were on the way to mending.

_And you know what? _Buffy reflected. _I think Giles was right. Friends do make it easie—_

"Oi! Slayer!"

Buffy shook herself, Spike's voice bringing her back to the present. She stood at a guard station which the new Mayor had put up to guard one of Sunnydale's oldest mines about a year or so ago. Buffy had seen on the news that the station had been broken into for reasons unknown. There wasn't anything _valuable_ in the mines, and none of the guards were _dead_, just unconscious.

In another town, it might have spelled 'small-time gang initiation'. In Sunnydale, it spelt 'small-time Hellmouth action'.

"You heard."

"Hard not to. Things've been pretty quiet around here lately; all the vampires are busy—something about some über-rare blood around town."

Buffy _looked_ at him, unimpressed. "That's it? That's all you know?"

Spike scoffed. "Well, hangin' about with the bloody _Slayer_ makes it pretty hard to get the nightly news on the dark side, luv."

"You sure that's it?" Buffy baited, not quite sure why she was doing it. "Or maybe they just didn't want to share the details with _poor, crippled Spikey_."

Spike looked startled—and _pissed_. "What the _hell_ are you talkin' about?"

"Aw, Spike, do you _really_ expect me to believe they don't know you've been de-clawed? Hell, all of Sunnydale must know there's a neutered vampire around, only a matter of time before they figure out it's _you_, William the _Bloody._ Oh, _how _the mighty have—"

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been Spike's fist.

For his part, Spike knew _exactly_ what he was expecting, but the pain never came.

Glancing in disbelief between his hand and the briefly layed-out Slayer, he thought quickly and clutched his head, screaming in 'pain'.

Buffy stood up, one hand cupping her cheekbone, and smirked. "See? What kind of vampire can't even _try_ to fight a Slayer?"

And with that, she turned away, heading to finish her patrol.

Behind her, Spike slowly straightened, taking his hands from his head and staring at them wonderingly. A grin began to spread across his face and alone in the darkness, the vampire laughed.

"Oh _yeah,_ the Big Bad is back, baby!"

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

_**A/N: Well, as you can see, I've set everything up for a rousing re-write of 'Smashed'. Gack. Poor Doctor is wandering around with no idea that this is an important night for Sunnydale's first and last line of defence.**_

_**Heheh, my 'secret' of where the Trio were last chapter is not much of a secret anymore, eh?**_

_**Next chapter should be coming soon—I just felt like this was a good place to stop for now. *glances up* How you holding up, fourth wall?**_

_**Wall of Illusions: …**_

_**Aw, come on. You aren't still miffed about losing that swordfight earlier?**_

_**Wall: …**_

_**Well, that's what you get for trying to use a weapon without hands.**_

_**Wall: Feed **_**me**_**!**_

…_**I have the feeling I've just gotten sworn at by a wall. Well, whatev. R&R, and thanks for your patience!**_


	9. Chapter 9: Plot Devices and Old Friends

**Chapter Nine**

**In Which Trite Plot Devices are Avoided, and Giles Contacts an Old Friend**

_**A/N YES! I got not only this chapter written, but the start of the next one. So I have some ideas where to go from here.**_

…_**Also, next time I say I won't be long, feel free to bust out laughing. Seriously. I mean, I can't hear you, so it's not like my feelings'll be hurt.**_

_**Wall of Illusions/4**__**th**__** Wall: …**_

_**And the Wall's quiet too! Heheh!**_

_**Wall of Illusions: *winks***_

_**Heheheh…heh…h…Um, Wall? Where did you get the Millennium Eye?**_

_**Wall: *smirks* Feeeeeeed meeeeee!**_

_**I am sooooo dead.**_

Buffy had found her way back to the alley with the 'police box' and stared up at it, eyes narrowed. It wasn't _threatening, _per se, but it Didn't Belong. And when things that Didn't Belong found their way to Sunnydale, it was rarely of the good.

"Thought I might find you here." Spike appeared from around the other side of the brightly lit box.

Buffy sighed. "What are you doing here, Spike?"

"Like I said. Looking for you…Slayer." He grinned wolfishly.

Buffy groaned at the non-answer and turned to leave.

"Where you going, Slayer? 'Course, you don't have to fret about little ol' housebroken me." He drew closer. "Seein' as how I can't throw a punch at a human without the mother-of-all-migraines coming out to play…" Lightning fast, he decked her. "Isn't that right, Slayer?"

Stunned, Buffy touched her sore jaw, watching Spike with a sort of disbelieving horror. "Your chip…"

"Is just fine. I checked. Same can't be said for you, though."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The Slayer started to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Well it's obvious, innit?" Spike got real close then, smirking. "If the chip keeps me from hurting people…and I can hurt _you_…" Spike backed away, still smirking.

"Face it, Slayer. _People_ don't rise from the grave. What does that say about _you?"_

"Stop it, Spike. Dammit, shut up!" She was angry now, and afraid, trying to end his words before he spoke them.

"I'll tell you what it says about you!" Spike enunciated his next words carefully, mockingly, triumphantly. "You. Came back. Wrong."

Buffy launched herself at the vampire, eyes blazing.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

The Doctor frowned, trailing his fingers over the wood of the TARDIS. "Oh you poor thing. Vampires rubbing their time-defying hands all over you. I knew I should have rented a lorry and brought you to the house." He breathed in again. There was another scent there, too, but beyond 'human' the Doctor couldn't identify it. Though all his senses were better developed than a human's, Time Lords were very much sight-and-sound creatures, like humans.

Yes, sound. Much like the loud crashes and bangs perhaps a block away. The Doctor followed the sounds to an empty house. Unarmed, there was nothing the Doctor could do against an angry vampire. Well, not without doing a clever thing. But from the sound of things, it was just two of the creatures fighting amongst themselves. Hardly worth wasting one of this clever things on.

Hearing an expensive-sounding crystalline shatter, the Doctor winced. Nope, definitely not something to get in the middle of. Maybe they'd kill each other off and save him the bother.

The Doctor squashed that thought abruptly. He wasn't about to let instinct take over. What was the point of Time Lord intelligence if he couldn't rise above? It was a humiliating reminder that he was only human, though durable.

So fixed was he on the knowledge that he _hated _killing that it took him a moment to notive that the racket had ceased…

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

_What am I doing?_ Buffy caught herself millimetres away from Spike's lips and hesitated. Hadn't she been fighting for her life a moment ago? Did she care?

Apparently not. Almost without realising it, she'd leaned forward and kissed him, not caring what he was, not caring that his roaming, clutching hands were cold as ice…

"_Good God, Buffy, why?"_

Buffy leapt away from Spike, the breath driven from her body by the tumult of emotions within. Hurt flashed briefly in the vampire's eyes before he tried to approach her again.

Once again, she backed away, picking up a splintered but sharp bit of planking. Spike backed off and sighed.

"Get your head on right, Slayer. _This _is your world."

When he was gone, Buffy sank to the floor and tried to figure out if she felt like crying or not.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

_Dawn's sister? _ The Doctor toyed with the thought of walking away and letting her be. It was really none of his business.

So of course he walked up to her.

"You alright? Looks like something's made merry hell with this place. And you," he added, noting a faint bruise on her cheek and the dull look in her eyes.

She looked up. "Oh. It's you."

"Funny, people usually sound happier about that," the Time Lord noted. "What in the name of Rassilon happened here?" the Doctor wondered, spotting the fallen chandelier and chunks of plaster absolutely everywhere. If this had been vampires, Buffy would be dead.

Except…last night, there were vampires. Buffy had destroyed them. Perhaps the link between the vampires and the time disturbance was stronger than he'd thought.

Buffy huffed out a single laugh. "Nothing much." She shook her head. "Either I just made the single biggest mistake of my life, or averted it."

"I…see. And do all your life-changing decisions involve demolition, or just this one?"

Buffy snorted. "You'd be amazed."

"No, I wouldn't. I really wouldn't."

"Yeah, I guess if you buy vampires, there's not much left," she joked,

The Doctor lowered himself to sit beside her. "Speak for yourself, Xena."

"Oh, you have _no _idea," Buffy laughed. "Why are you out this late?"

"Why are _you _out this late?"

"Doing my job."

"Welcome to the club," the Doctor grinned, bouncing to his feet and offering her a hand up.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Buffy shook her head and took the outstretched hand. Bowman stiffened, his eyes sliding out of focus.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Erm, fine, thanks." His eyes refocused—directly on her, rather unnervingly intense, though an eyebrow lifted in Spockian incredulity. "You don't happen to have a treasured but broken fob watch on you? Er, pocketwatch?"

"Um…no?"

"Oh good. We had that plot device already. It would have been very trite if you turned out to be Romana or something like that." He grinned cheekily, through the smile faded slightly as he said "Pleasant, mind. But trite."

"Um…okay." Buffy took a breath to say something else, realised she didn't have anything else to say, and closed her open mouth awkwardly.

"Well, say hello to Dawn for me," Bowman said abruptly, striding away. As he reached what remained of the door, he wheeled about on his heel, pointing at her. "Sure you're alright?"

The Slayer nodded affirmation, and Bowman looked satisfied. Then he left.

Buffy stared dumbly at the palm of her hand.

Well, that wasn't something you felt every day. She made a mental note to call Giles about it…

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Willow awoke atop her bedcovers, mind reeling from Rack's magic. Mechanically, she picked herself up and headed to the bathroom.

"Will?" Buffy poked her head out of her room, noting Willow's clubbing outfit. "Musta been some night out." She seemed distracted, but Willow, numb, didn't notice.

If Buffy hadn't been there, she could have pretended it never happened…could have slipped into the shower and washed away the guilt…

"Yeah," she said absently, fighting the urge to run into the bathroom and entering it at a normal pace instead.

The not-so-ex-witch stood for a moment with her back against the door before she summoned the will to reach out and turn on the shower. In a daze, she stripped off her clothes and clambered in.

Goddess, what had she done! Dawn would never forgive her. Buffy was finally trying to move on, to forgive, and Willow had betrayed her.

And _Tara_…she would be so _disappointed_. That broke Willow's control and she dropped her face to her hands.

_Tara…I'm so sorry…_

But was she sorry enough to stay away from Amy and Rack?

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Giles hesitated. He wasn't quite sure why he had come _here_, of all places. Normally, investigating something like this would have involved long hours in the Council library. But ever since Buffy had called, he'd had the feeling that this was more _her_ area of expertise.

But was she even home? It looked like her car was in the drive. Giles smiled a little at the thought of seeing his old friend again.

So he stepped up to the door and rang the bell of No. 13 Bannerman Road.

_**A/N Squeee! I predict that once school is over I'll have **_**boatloads **_**of time to write…especially since Doctor Who doesn't come out til **_**autumn**_** and all my other shows are ending…**_

_***sniffle* I hope they don't make Rumpelstiltskin a bad guy on **_**Once Upon a Time**_** next season…and that **_**House **_**ends on a high note…and that they renew **_**Bones **_**and **_**Castle **_**and all the other shows. Amen.**_

_**Wall of Illusions: *winks***_

_**Hah. I took the Wall's soul cards so it can't steal my soul. Eat **_**that**_**, Millennium Eye!**_

_**R&R!**_


	10. Chapter 10: Expectation v Reality

**Chapter Ten**

**In Which Expectations are Thwarted, Plastic is Contemplated, and Gingers are Confused**

_**A/N: You're going to hate me, but I've actually had this written for most of the past week…I've just been too busy to write it up.**_

_**Fox-Like Goblin: For a value of busy roughly synonymous with 'indolent', 'apathetic', 'negligent'…**_

_**Fine! Lazy! Christ, Didymus, just play a word!**_

_**Sir Didymus: P-R-O-C-R-A-S-T-I-N-A-T-I-V-E. Triple word score!**_

_**Um, Sir Didymus…there aren't that many spaces on a Scrabble board.**_

_**Sir Didymus: Beg pardon, fair lady; in the Underground, our Scrabble boards expand to the size needed to contain the word. *Sweeps board clean* D-I-L-A-T-O-R-Y.**_

_**Hum. Don't know that word. *Blinks* Waitaminute. You can't have that many different letters. There's no way. Not possible.**_

_**Sir Didymus: *Poker face* Blank squares, my lady.**_

_**Wall of Illusions: *snickers***_

_**Sir Didymus…You haven't been conspiring with a certain Millennium-Item-wielding Fourth Wall to draw the right pieces, have you?**_

_**Sir Didymus: …**_

_***Sigh*. Goblins. Even the honest ones will cheat to make a point. Where was I…?**_

_**Ah, yes. I'm well aware that technically, Sarah Jane only got into her big alien-investigation phase **_**after **_**encountering the Doctor in 2006, but considering how rarely **_**The Sarah Jane Adventures**_** crossed over with **_**Doctor Who**_**, I feel perfectly justified in screwing with the timeline a little bit. So…she hasn't met up with the Doctor again yet, and when she investigates the school in a couple of years, she's just…giving the kids a week off or something. And, y'know, there's plenty of time in the interim for K-9 to break down and all the other stuff. And no, I don't know how she manages five years without the sonic lipstick. Just work with me here, 'kay? I'll make it work. Anyhow, here's the next chapter. I'm off to find a dictionary…dilatory…dilatory…**_

"Rupert!"

Giles smiled. "Hello, Sarah Jane."

Sarah Jane smiled brilliantly and opened the door wider, hugging her friend for a moment. "Come in, come in! I thought you were living in America these days," she enthused, leading him into her sitting room. "Tea?"

"Oh, yes please."

As she went into the kitchen to fix a pot of Darjeeling, Giles looked around the sitting room curiously. Several brilliantly-coloured sun-catchers rotated languidly near the windows, throwing little flecks of red, gold, and blue light onto the surfaces of the room. Many of the tables bearing lamps also held photographs, from grainy barely-in-colour prints to clearer, more modern photos picturing Sarah Jane in what looked to be a comfortably-furnished attic, surrounded by three beaming young teenagers—a gangly, pale boy with Sarah Jane's arm around his waist, a tall-but-sturdy black boy with close-cropped hair and a cheeky grin, and a girl with braided hair sat on a step slightly behind the others, but so close to the first boy that it was plain she in no way distanced from the others.

Giles turned his attention to one of the oldest photographs. Ah, there was Sarah Jane, so young but wearing much the same sort of blouse, slacks, and argyle sweater-vests she favoured now. She stood close by a long-limbed fellow with wild white hair and a sharp, beaky nose, who was rather uniquely dressed in a red velvet frock coat, a ruffled shirt, bow-tie, _silk gloves,_ for God's sake…

To Sarah Jane's other side was a stern man in Army uniform, wearing a beret that, when Giles squinted, he could see bore a gold globe emblem. Stern he looked indeed, but Giles thought he could detect a trace of a smile on that face, a tiny softening around the eyes that said that although this man was a soldier of the first water, he was, at the moment, at peace and among friends.

Of course, that could also have been a product of Giles's fancies and grainy film, but he rather thought not.

"Here we are," Sarah Jane announced, carrying in a tea tray. Giles grinned in anticipation as he fixed his cup.

"So tell me, Rue, what brings you to _Ealing_, of all places?"

Giles took a grateful sip of tea (real tea! Fresh, strong tea he hadn't had to make himself!) and replied "Well, _you_, in point of fact." This was going to be touch-and-go. But before he could continue, there was a loud _thud_ from upstairs, followed by a cry of what sounded like 'canine'.

"Ah, would you excuse me for a moment?" Sarah Jane asked with a shaky smile, setting down her cup rather hastily.

She mounted the stairs.

"Luke!" she hissed, opening her son's bedroom door. "What is going on?"

"I don't know!" her son replied, frantically piling pillows against the walls to muffle the sound. "Mum, the door!"

"Oh," she gasped, closing it just in time to keep a boxy metallic shape from sliding past her.

"K-9, what is the meaning of this?" the reporter demanded.

"Unfamiliar energy signature detected on the floor below, Mistress! Sitting room!"

Sarah Jane was pulled up short. "Sitting room?

"Affirmative, Mistress!"

She frowned. "But…all that's there is my friend. K-9, in-depth report? Please?"

"Energy has similarity to Huon particles," K-9 chirped. "Source of energy is internal and organic. Specimen is Human, pure, male; analysis of blood may reveal trace quantities of exhausted chronon energy or radioactive substance with similar pattern of decay."

"What—like he was exposed to a source of chronon radiation and it burned out in his blood?" Sarah Jane asked.

"Accurate, if unscientific, Mistress," K-9 confirmed.

"Chronon—is that like Artron?" Luke asked.

"Negative, Master Luke. Artron radiation is a by-product of Huon particles. It is created by the displacement of space caused by time travel. Chronon radiation comes in several different forms, most of which are inert and present in all locations in which Time is extant."

"I'm guessing Mum's friend's been exposed to one of the non-inert types?" Luke said dryly.

"Affirmative, Master Luke. However, he is _producing_ the unidentifiable Huon-like energy signature. The energy is more stable than Huon particles and is likely not damaging to organic life forms in its present state. Nevertheless, suggest caution, Mistress," K-9 added, computerised voice taking on the brisker yet somehow more human-like tone of normal conversation. "It would be. Distressing. If you were damaged."

"Of course, K-9," Sarah Jane promised, touched.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"Sorry about that," Sarah Jane said when she returned. "My son, Luke…managed to overturn a _bookshelf_, of all things."

Giles chuckled along with her, but inside he was suddenly wary. He'd spent his life around books. If that had been a bookshelf, the _thud_ would have been preceded by a rumbling like the mother-of-all-hailstorms as the books fell out. Furthermore, the bookshelf would have had to defy most of Newtonian physics and fallen down _onto the wall_. Giles knew what the sound of something hitting the floor sounded like from underneath said floor; he'd heard it often enough while raiding vampire nests with Buffy and the others.

But he still needed information, and so all he said was "I didn't know you had a son," and took a sip of tea.

"Oh, yes, I recently adopted him," Sarah Jane admitted with a soft smile. She picked up the first photograph Giles had examined and handed it to him, pointing at the boy she had her arm around. "His name is Luke."

"He certainly looks like a fine boy. I'm sure you're a fantastic mother," Giles said truthfully.

"I hope so," she said softly, smile fading. "What did you need to speak with me about?"

"Ah." The Watcher set down his cup and gently re-placed the photograph on the table beside the couch. "I, ah, I believe that in the—70's, was it?—you were involved with UNIT?"

"The United Nations Intelligence Taskforce," Sarah Jane recalled. "Or at least, it used to be. Can't seem to make up their minds what 'U-N' stands for. You believe correctly. Mostly secret, though," she warned him.

"And UNIT deals with some rather…extraordinary creatures, yes?" He watched her reaction carefully. "Extraordinary _beings_, even?"

"Why do you ask?" Sarah Jane's face might have been carved from stone, for all Giles could read. Slightly nervous stone, true; but unfortunately, stone was stone, and immobile.

His next words were very soft and very grave. "Because if so, Sarah Jane, then I find myself in quite dire need of your assistance."

"Oh?" She looked a little gentler now; evidently _I need help_ was more appealing than _I need classified information. _Giles also recognised the opening; he was to ask what he needed immediately, and she'd give him his answer without ever agreeing to disclose international government secrets.

"Humanoid, apparently male, intelligent, charismatic, with a binary vascular system and super-human body temperature," Giles rattled off swiftly. "A doctor, if he's to be believed."

Sarah Jane froze.

A few minutes later, Giles found himself outside with her soft parting words in his ears.

"_Ask him yourself. And tell him Sarah Jane says hello."_

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

The Doctor did not like feeling helpless. He didn't like not knowing things.

But he _loved_ finding things out. So he fought the uncomfortable prickling on his skin and ventured deeper into the ruined high school. He'd long since tucked the timey-wimey detector away; there was so much energy floating around he'd have to be blind, deaf, and numb to be unable to follow it.

"Doctor? Are you _sure_ there's something down here?"

Blind, deaf, and numb; or human.

"Trust me, Pond. I know everything, remember?" He grinned at her. Amy wasn't convinced.

"So what happened to this place?" Amy wondered, peering into a ruined classroom half open to the sky. A scorched, dismembered plastic skeleton rotated gently in the night wind, grinning at her with its slagged, melted jaws. She shuddered.

"Blew up, apparently," the Doctor replied absently. His head flicked from side to side, always searching.

"What, like the gas line went or something?"

"Not likely. We passed the stairs to the boiler room a while back, and the damage is worse the further in we go. I think we're getting close to the source."

"Of the explosion, or the energy?"

"Both."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Dawn tried to ignore it when Willow twitched again, just like she'd seen druggies do on CSI when Brass hauled them in for questioning. It wasn't exactly something she wanted to ponder, you know? But she couldn't ignore it when Willow abruptly said "Hey, Dawnie? I gotta make a quick stop."

"But the movie—"

"We'll get there in time," Willow said dismissively, leading her down one of Sunnydale's numerous dark alleys. "Come on." She took Dawn's hand and pushed through nothing.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"Where _are_ we?" Amy asked, voice hushed.

"Mayhem central," the Doctor replied, doing something with his tongue that reminded Amy of a toddler who'd just been force-fed spinach. "The heart of the blast, and home to whatever's making Sunnydale into a battlefield, with any luck."

"_Luck?_ With any _luck_, this _isn't_ the sort of place where we die, Doctor!"

"Die? _Die?_ Amelia Pond, I know _I _didn't teach you such negativity. Honestly," the Doctor scoffed. He rubbed his hands together. "Ooooh, this is going to be good." He grinned ghoulishly, the _oh-dear-you-forgot-I-wasn't-human-again-well-let-me-get-all-creepily-excited-over-weird-things-that-send-sane-people-running _grin.

She was really going to have to think of a shorter name for that expression; he used it too often for her to think something that long every time.

The _Yay, monsters!_ grin. Yeah, that was it. Of course, then the Time Lord turned the grin on Amy and she couldn't help but return it. Adventure! Madness! Mayhem! Life was good!

"Now then." The Doctor looked around, seeing bits of paper fluttering around. The remains of an oblong table, chairs, and bookshelves. The ruined, hollow arms of a double staircase. A twisted bit of metal that looked like the front of a cage, which the Doctor instinctively shied away from before he realised that it _was _a cage: a book cage.

"I guess this used to be the library," the Doctor concluded.

"Funny, _my _high school library didn't have a giant skeleton in the middle of it," Amy commented. Her voice had only gone up about a quarter-to-a-half octave; surprise, not terror. The Doctor looked where she pointed, spotting a massive, half-shattered skull and a long, coiling sort of spine-y thing.

"A snake." A beat of silence. "A _giant_ snake. In a library. Dead." Another beat. And another grin. "Oh _this _is _Christmas!_"

"So. To sum things up: vampires, giant snakes, and time energy. Well, that all makes perfect sense."

"It does?"

"No, stupid, it _doesn't!_ I was waiting for you to come up with something!" Amy fumed.

The Doctor shrugged and left the snake skeleton alone for now—it was dead, after all, not like it was going anywhere. He was going to maybe investigate some of the bookshelves, when something caught his eye.

"Amy, come have a look at this."

Amy came up behind him, looking through the open doorway into a small room. "Librarian's office?" she guessed.

"It's empty," the Doctor said.

"Well, yeah, it's not like there's a librarian anymore," Amy began, but the Doctor cut her off.

"But if it was done after the explosion, why empty out the office…but not the library?"

Amy looked from the cleared-out office to the very-much-cluttered library. "Oh," she observed softly.

"And is it just me, or are there not as many pages in here as there should be, what with all the shelves?" The Doctor studied the scene thoughtfully. "Pond?"

Amy shook her head slightly. "_If_ it was done after the explosion?"

Slowly, the Doctor nodded. "Yes. _Yes_. Oh, it's so obvious!" He grinned. "The _librarian_ set off the explosion!"

"_What?"_

"Look, Amy! The office is _empty_—emptied out _before_ the explosion, all the librarian's things out of harm's way—"

"_Anyone_ could have emptied out the office to save the poor woman's—or bloke's, I guess—stuff, before blowing the place," Amy pointed out, quite reasonably.

"Yes-yes-yes but the _library?_ There aren't enough books in there, Pond; the library was emptied out too, as much as possible without looking too suspicious. If this was some student prank, or even someone else on the staff, _why_ go to all that trouble? Unless you _cared_ about what happened _to the books_. And who cares more about the books—"

"—than the librarian," Amy finished, getting it.

"If only there was some way of finding out who the librarian was," the Doctor mused, eyes sliding out of focus like they did when he thought too intently.

Amy looked around, some idea niggling about in the back of her head. Her eyes alighted on the door to the office, blown off its hinges and face-down on the floor of the main library.

"Doctor, the door. Help me flip it."

The Doctor blinked. "Hm?"

Sighing shortly, Amy bent down and gripped the edge of the door, struggling to lift it.

"Oh, Pond!" The Doctor crouched beside her and added his strength to the effort, and the two of them easily hauled the door upright.

"Now what was that all about—"

For the third time in as many minutes, Amy cut him off, pointing at the pane of Perspex set into the door.

More specifically at the gold lettering upon it.

"Wish granted," she said smugly, unable to supress a slight smirk.

The Doctor blinked, staring hard at the name on the door. _R. Giles. _"Amy, I can't remember. Do I believe in coincidence?"

"Don't think so, why?"

"Buffy's friend, the one she took me and Dawn to see after the vampire attack. Clever chap, English, name of Rupert Giles."

"R. Giles," Amy recognised.

The Time Lord nodded. "Add in the snake with the suspiciously shattered skull and we have ourselves a map. Clever Mr Giles empties the library of all he holds dear, rigs it, lures the snake in, and blows the place. While empty, at that; they didn't find anyone in the school, according to the article I read. That's neat work. Hope the snake deserved it." He looked grim. "Unfortunately, none of that tells us anything about the energy signature. I'm going to look around, see if I can find anything—well, weird. Coming with?"

Ultimately, Amy and the Doctor split up. The Time Lord wasn't altogether happy with the plan, but Amy's look had clearly stated that she didn't _care_ if that was when things always went wrong in horror movies, this _wasn't_ a horror movie and it wasn't like they were the dumb film students with cameras anyway, if anything they were Mystery, Inc. and no one ever died on _Scooby Doo_, did they?

Or maybe he was reading too much into it. Either way, it was a _very _persuasive look.

Such is the process of searching that the thing you're searching for is always in the last place you would ever possibly even _think_ of looking—not in 'the last place you look', you _always_ found what you were looking for in the last place you looked, because honestly, you weren't going to _keep_ looking once you found it, were you? So it was with the Doctor. Only after he returned to the front of the library to wait for Amy did he finally find what he was looking for.

It was tiny—you had to really look for it—but there was a break in the tiles of the library floor. The Doctor circled the break, until at last he stood before a rather reasonable pit. A muted orange glow bathed his face, so faint it almost wasn't there, except that when he looked _down_ at the source, a glow there was indeed. He started to get a bad feeling. There was something very familiar about the not-glow from this hole.

Then it—the idea, not the hole—hit him.

Oh no. Oh _Rassilon _no. Someone please, _please_ tell him that the Nestene Consciousness hadn't set up shop in _Sunnydale? _ And if it had…

Now _there_ was a thought. _Plastic vampires._

And a girl who felt like a Time Lord and fought like Leela of the Sevateem.

By the Six-Fold God, he _loved _this town!

Then reality caught up with him, and he realised that plastic vampires, while feasible, weren't actually in Sunnydale, or his whole fight-against-the-genocidal-instinct thingy wouldn't be slowly turning him back into a moody Time Teen.

The Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver, whirring it over the pit. He tried not to capitalise that last thought; now that he'd eliminated Autons as a possibility, both the circumstances of discovery and the readings from the sonic were far too similar to Krop Tor for his taste. He knelt down and eyed the non-glow dubiously. Yep. His trouble radar hadn't failed him yet.

"Come along, Pond," he said abruptly, certain she must have arrived at the front by now.

"Pond?" Nothing. He stood, his eyes scanning the library nervously. "Amy?"

Cautiously, he poked through the shelves as far as he dared, knowing Amy wouldn't have gone further. "Amy! _Poooond!_" he bellowed.

No answer.

"Amelia?" he whispered hopefully.

By the time the night had silently swallowed his words, the Time Lord was off and running.

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

Desperation had forced the Slayer to enlist Spike in Operation Find Dawn. The vampire raced through the alleyways, shoving the dumb-arse humans out for a night stroll from his path. It went well until he encountered one of them moving roughly as fast as he was.

"Sorry," the man panted as he narrowly missed smacking into the vampire.

"Whatever," Spike grunted, taking in a breath to speak. He regretted it an instant later. Oh _God_, that was some fine-smelling blood!

Dawn. Find the nibblet. The bit was in danger.

"Don't suppose you've seen a ginger in a hurry?" the other Brit asked. "Amy?"

_Amy._ The rat witch. So _that's_ who was pulling Red down.

"Sympathies, mate. Bit of help?"

"Sounds good to me. James Bowman," the man introduced himself.

"Spike. Right. Let's go, then. Looking for a girl named Dawn, too, seen 'er?"

"Dawn? Her too?" Bowman looked horrified.

"Why, you know her?"

Face grim, the bloke nodded. "Let's go."

_**%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%**_

"Sorry for all this," the blonde boy whispered. He looked around nervously. "It's just, we needed one of you two, but the guy was a little _creepy_, you know?"

Amelia Pond was, if possible, even _less_ amused with her erstwhile captors after that dig at the Doctor. He was _weird_, not _creepy_. So she glared at him. The boy quailed.

"I'm r-really sorry," he stammered. The other boy, the short one with dark hair, smacked him upside the head.

"What are you _doing_, dork-face? You're the villain, she's the damsel—"

"Oi! Watch who you're callin' _damsel,_ you son of an Adipose!" She put her face up close to the short one's. "That 'creepy guy' you were too afraid to go up against? _I'm his mother-in-law!_"

She smirked as her captors exchanged uneasy looks.

"Oh, bra_vo_, knife to the heart!"

The other lights in the basement flicked on, revealing a rather posh den filled with comfortable furniture, technology that would have been state-of-the-art eleven years later in _Amy's_ time, and many bits, gadgets, and old books.

None of that was what caught and held Amy's attention, though.

The newly-arrived leader of the Trio, all spiked hair and shark-like smile, followed her gaze. His smile widened. "I see you've spotted our pride-and-joy. Don't worry, we just need a touch of your hand…"

Amy started struggling. "No!" No, no, no, no, _no!_ "He'll stop you! The Doctor will stop you! _Doctor!"_

Her three captors looked blankly at each other.

"Doctor who?" the leader shrugged, and grabbed her hand. "Hold her still," he ordered the other two.

Then he brought her hand squarely down on the metal dome of a Dalek.

_**A/N: **_**Dilatory (n): indolent, procrastinative, lazy…**_**HEY!**_

_**Sir Didymus: I have no comment on the matter.**_

**Didymus…**

_**Sir Didymus: Ah, my apologies, Lady Anbee; it seems Lady Sarah requires my services. I must attend to her forthwith.**_

_**I'll give you **_**forthwith, **_**you sorry one-eyed fox-nosed excuse for a—**_

_***Computer fizzes, dies***_

…

_***Computer starts up again***_

_**Sorry 'bout that. Bloody fox. He'll be back, just you wait. He always is. I swear, the way he avoids his job, you'd think he worked in a reeking fetid bog or something…oh wait…**_

_**So, raise your hands if you saw the Dalek coming!**_

_***The entire imaginary audience raises their hands***_

…_**Okay…Anyway. Finals week is OVER! No more school! No more hardship and heartbreak! And actual chapters of a few select individuals' favourite Buffy/Doctor Who crossover! Chapter 11 is well underway and rather interesting, if I do say so myself. Thanks go out in advance to Lise-Lyla, who's been going over these chapters with me and is (hopefully) going to loan me one of LYLA's pet Plot Bunnies in exchange for playing editor. You're awesome, L&L!**_

_**Yami: *Pokes his head through the Wall of Illusions* Wait. You let LISE and **_**her **_**yami in, but you keep **_**me**_** back **_**here?**

_**Yami, I love you, but you need to go back to Shadow House with the rest of the YGO cast.**_

_**Yami: **_**Why **_**did you have to pack all of us up in one house in your imagination…?**_

_**Because I could. And I didn't pack **_**all **_**of you up. Just the interesting ones…**_

_**Argh. Whatever. R&R!**_


End file.
